Just another job?

[hero141]

And Rachel continues...  Enjoy!

Her voice drips in disdain, her imposing figure is looming over me. Her muscles, rippling with power, are a silent warning of the danger lurking beneath her seemingly calm and drop-dead gorgeous exterior. My mind races as I weigh the options. Begging for mercy would only further reinforce my status as weakling in her eyes. Running away is impossible. My restraints are so tight. Telling the truth may be the only option I have. I do not want to end up like this cleaning guy, skull broken and bleeding to death on the ground... My God, that kick was brutal... My words come out in a rush.

- Honestly, Rachel. I was forced into orgasm. I swear that I had no intention at all to kiss Denise or Elle as she called herself. It's the truth. I... I didn't mean to fail Aletta. And I don't want to fail you. You are so gorgeous! I would do anything to serve you.

Rachel cuts me off with a sharp gesture, her gorgeous eyes narrowing into slits of suspicion. Despite my situation I cannot help but think what a formidable sight she really is! A stunning beauty. She embodies the perfect balance between femininity and muscularity: every movement of her curvaceous dreambody is accompanied by a flex and ripple of menacing muscles. Her arms are so thick, each muscle sharply delineated and etched with definition, biceps and triceps swelling with man-crushing power, forearms rippling beneath her smooth, taut and deeply-tanned skin.

- You expect me to believe that? Forced into an orgasm? That's the best excuse you can come up with, you stupid fuck? Do you think I will show some mercy if you sweet-talk me, huh? Do you?

Her sudden aggression is unnerving. Despite the temptation to cower before her, I muster all my courage to meet her gaze, hoping to convey the sincerity of my words. I see nothing but contempt in her green eyes. I manage to stammer, unable to hide the desparation in my voice:

- I... I swear, Rachel. I have no intention of betraying Aletta or you. Please don't hurt me.

With a swift and powerful motion, Rachel grabs me under the armpits, lifting me and the chair I am bound to effortlessly from the ground. I marvel at her raw strength.

- My God, Rachel, please, you must believe me. I tell you the truth and nothing but the truth! Don't kill me, please!

Suddenly I feel myself being hurled across the room. The force of her throw is overwhelming, exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. My breath catches in my throat as the sheer velocity leaves me disoriented and helpless. The surreal sensation of the immense acceleration makes my senses reel. The air rushes past me in a roar, drowning out any other sound, the room blurring. Everything testifies to Rachel's unbelievable power. My weightlessness comes to a crashing halt against the far concrete wall: I crash hard and drop to the floor. The impact reverberates through my body, jolting me back to the harsh reality of my predicament.

- I'm going to make you regret the day you were born, M. Rosenberg.

I am hardly conscious, but the pain, immediate and intense, brings me back. I try to brace myself. What can I do? My shoulders and ribs hurt terribly. Pain is all I feel. Everything hurts. I hear the distinctive click-clack of her heels echoing like a heartbeat, a rhythmic pulse of strength and sophistication. Each step is a statement, a declaration of boldness and female superiority. In a haze I notice how blood is still dripping from her right boot, the ultra-high heel is simply drenched in it, but Rachel does not seeem to care.

- You're pathetic. You're nothing but a weakling, begging for mercy like a whimpering dog. You're mine now.

I am in shock. I move frantically in my chair, but to no avail. I am well restrained. I gasp, struggling to rise from the floor, my voice trembling with fear. There is not much I can do but to submit.

- This doesn't have to end like this, Rachel. We can work this out.

She chuckles evilly. Her voice betrays a mixture of amusement and contempt.

- Work this out, M. Rosenberg? Oh, I think we're well beyond that point now. You will make an excellent addition to my own workout routine. I could use something to work out this pent-up aggression. Does that work for you?

The threat is obvious, each syllable dripping with malice, suffocating any hope of escape.

- Please, Rachel. I'll do anything. Just let me make things right.

She tilts her head, a sinister smile playing at the corners of her lips.

- Anything, you say? How intriguing.

With a push from her legs, Rachel propels herself into a series of cartwheels, her muscular arms gracefully supporting her weight. The sound of her stiletto heels echoes through the room, a rhythmic accompaniment to her athletic display. With each cartwheel, her muscles flex and ripple, showcasing years of dedication and training. The lube on her tanned skin accentuates the ultra-defined contours of her sexy bodybuilding physique, the sleek faux leather molding to her ample curves, highlighting every flex and pump. I notice the thin straps of a black thong disappear into the contours of her muscular bubble butt. She moves with precision, each movement fluid and controlled despite the weight of her formidable body. She seems to defy gravity, when she seamlessly transitions into backflips, her physique arcs with elegance, each flip executed with strength and finesse. She flawlessly lands with poise and absolute control in front of me on these impossibly high heels. Dwarfing me. Both hands reach out and I flinch as she touches my naked skin, her iron grip tightening around my neck and crotch, her ultra-long nails digging into my frail flesh like claws. She seductively purrs:

- You think you can escape my grasp, do you? In my world, there are those who lead, and those who follow. And you have chosen your side. Let's start with a simple lesson in obedience. And perhaps, if you prove yourself worthy, we can explore other... arrangements. Hehe.

My heart pounds in my chest as I brace myself for what is to come, knowing that in the presence of Rachel, there is no room for mercy. Only submission. And it is as if she reads my thoughts:

- I leave no room for weakness. No room for defiance. And certainly no room for you.

With a cruel smirk, Rachel further tightens her grip around my neck and balls. I wince in pain, feeling the sharp pressure of her fingers cutting off my air supply and nearly crushing my testicles. And then, for a second time, the gorgeous bodybuilder lifts me high above her head and in an explosion of force hurls me against the unforgiving stone wall again. The impact sends shockwaves of agony through my already battered body. I can hardly breathe as my ribcage breaks the impact. I crumple to the ground, my limbs still tightened to the chair, unable to move. The room spins around me. It has become a dizzying blur of stone and steel mixed with sexy shiny leather and oiled up female muscles. I struggle to regain my bearings. Fuck, my whole body hurts. I am shaking from the adrenalin pumping through my veins. How long will I be able to take this?

- What bodypart do you want me to start with, M. Rosenberg? Want me to break a leg? Crush a knee? Pop an eye? Tell me. I'll be glad to accomodate myself to your deepest desires...

I start crying. Every thought of resistance ebbs away; every semblance of resistance has died. I realize that there is no room for negotiation, for mercy. For Rachel, it is all about dominance and power. And in that game she reigns supreme.

- Tears, M. Rosenberg? How touching. I must say that I didn't realize I was dealing with such a delicate little flower.

I feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment and I struggle to stop crying. Rachel's laughter rings out like a cruel echo in the room as she scoffs:

- Do you cry every time a real woman plays with you? And this is not even foreplay.

Her laughter subsides and is replaced by a cold, calculating gaze.

- Don't you know that hanging around with female bodybuilders comes at a cost? It's time to pay the bill. Let's make sure you're visible for the audience.

With an ease that speaks volumes of strength, she grasps the back of the steel chair, lifts it  -- me included  -- and positions it back onto the ground, its legs touching and scraping the floor, in full view of the one-way mirror again. One fluid motion is all she needs. My God, she must be so fucking strong. I feel like I have been run over by a truck. Everything hurts. I drop my head in dejection and my thoughts wander to the helpless cleaner on the ground. That kick. Those shots. Executed without the slightest remorse. This babe is a killing machine, a gorgeous monster bathed in the shimmering glow of leather and oiled muscles. And I am her next victim. Tears continue to run down my cheeks. With deliberate grace, she extends her hand, the glint of her long-nailed finger catching the light, and reaches toward me. She slips her finger under my chin lifting my head gently but firmly. The touch is commanding yet strangely tender. As she leans forward, I am captivated by how the shiny material of her top shifts, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her formidable cleavage, her ballooning tits glistening with the sheen of oil, a glow that amplifies their perfectly round form and superior size...

- Enjoying the view?

Her voice is cold and full of sarcasm. She looks down on me with a mixture of disdain and amusement, knowing well that this tantalizing display of femininity completely drives me crazy. I know this is not an invitation, but a deliberate move to assert her total dominance. A weapon. And it only adds to my vulnerability: I cannot help but being mesmerized by her ultra-sexy curves and muscles, this blend of female power and beauty. She is simply magnetic. Orgasmic. And she adds:

- Don't get too comfortable, you sorry excuse for a man.

And suddenly my body tenses again as a huge electric shock courses through me, setting every nerve on fire with agony. I can feel my muscles convulse uncontrollably, my screams drown out by the overwhelming onslaught of pain. Time seems to stand still as I writhe against the chair, my world reduced to nothing but searing torment and unrelenting despair. As the shock finally subsides, I lie gasping for air, my body trembling with exhaustion and shock.

- Jeez, horny fuck! Don't you have any control? You're just like all the others. Weak. Inferior. Pathetic. Disposable.

I grit my teeth against the onslaught of humiliation, refusing to let her see how deeply her words affect me. But deep down, I know she's right. In Rachel's presence I am the insect, the beta...

Rachel leans in closer, her breath hot against my ear as she whispers:

- Let the games begin. And trust me, darling: you won't win any prizes. Unless you tell me everything now.

As she pulls away I notice how her eyes start gleaming with a dangerous glint. From a bag she pulls out a huge black dildo. Its size and girth are simply scary. Holy fuck: will she use that on me? My God! When Rachel notices my shock, her smirk morphs into a triumphant grin.

- I did, Rachel! I really did tell you everything. I swear to God.

Her voice drips with anticipation as she brandishes the huge black monster:

- Mmm, let's see if you've truly spilled all your secrets. I usually use this baby to throat-fuck my victims, ramming it deep down their throats. As an appetizer. If they don't talk, I'll continue shoving it up their ass. And if you think your ass is not ready to receive this kind of monster, you are right. Few men take it elegantly, but with a body like mine there is plenty of muscle power to push it in anywhere I want it  -- however deep that may be.

I recoil in horror at the thought, my mind racing with fear and desperation.

- I... I'm not lying! O God, please! I went to a beauty parlor to have my ass bleeched and there she was: Denise. Or Elle as she called herself. She released me from my penis-cage and started to tease me. I asked her to stop, but eventually she started jerking me off. Against my will.

Rachel's grin widens at my confession, which sounds pretty lame, I have to admit. It is a panicked confession and she obviously relishes in my vulnerability.

- Do you really think I'd believe such a pathetic excuse? Jerked off against your will? By Denise? Get real, asshole... She's probably the best fuck in the universe: men stand in line just to be noticed by her. Let alone she would notice them and touch them... Or jerk them off. Having Denise jerking you off must be every guy's ultimate sexual fantasy. She handles more dicks a day than you touch yours in a month. So, against your will sounds pretty lame. Like refusing water when you're dying of thirst.

With a menacing glint in her eyes, Rachel raises the massive black phallus, its sheer size and girth as intimidating as the muscle-packed sadist looming over me.

- You wanted to serve me, didn't you? Like the submissive bitch you are.

She hovers the tip of the dildo inches from my quivering lips.

- Well, now's your fucking chance. Open wide and show me just how obedient you can be.

With a mixture of fear and resignation, I comply, reluctantly parting my lips as Rachel presses the dildo against my mouth. I am repulsed, but I know better than to resist. I can only hope that by totally submitting myself to this gorgeous sadist, I will save my life.

With a wicked smirk, she commands:

- Now, suck, M. Rosenberg! Show me how much you want to please me. I want to see just how deep you can take it.

I brace myself for what is to come and open my mouth wider, trembling all over. Rachel teasingly slowly pushes the dildo past my lips. The taste of rubber fills my mouth, making me gag as she pushes it inches further inside. I can feel the pressure building in my throat, threatening to overwhelm me.

- Such a good little bitch.

Rachel coos, her tone mocking and cruel.

- You're going to take it all, aren't you? Every inch of it.

I can barely breathe as the dildo goes deeper into my mouth, stretching me to my limits. Tears sting his eyes as he struggles to hold back the urge to gag, desperate to please Rachel and avoid her wrath.

- Almost there...

Rachel murmurs, her voice low and dangerous. I gag and choke as the dildo presses against the back of my throat, the sensation of being suffocated by its massive bulk sends panic coursing through my veins. I struggle to breathe, to swallow, to do anything to alleviate the suffocating pressure. But Rachel shows no mercy, her grip unyielding as she continues to push the dildo deeper into my throat, her eyes alight with sadistic pleasure. Tears stream down my cheeks as I gasp for air, the overwhelming sensation of being violated and helpless consuming me.

- Enjoying the foreplay so far, M. Rosenberg?

As Rachel pushes the 15 inch dildo deeper into my throat, the level of my panic increases. My gag reflex kicks in, my body convulsing in a desperate attempt to expel the foreign object. The dildo presses against the back of his throat, giving me the feeling that my air supply is cut off. My chest heaves in a desparate attempt to draw in some breath. I realize I am completely at Rachel's mercy, unable to free myself from her grasp. With each agonizing moment, the pressure in my throat intensifies, the sensation of suffocation overwhelming me. Tears stream down my cheeks as she keeps the fuck-toy deep down my throat. It feels like ages before she finally pulls it out again, my chest heaving as I gulp down mouthfuls of precious oxygen, a thick trail of saliva dripping from the corner of my mouth. I am left helpless and degraded.

- OK, M. Rosenberg. Time for Big Red. Unless you start to talk now...

In a haze I am able to see how Rachel picks up a 20 inch red phallus from her bag  -- it looks more like a small red rubber baseball bat. My God! She cannot be serious. I lose all my inhibitions to keep up appearances. I break. I openly cry now, tears streaming down my cheeks.

- Please, Rachel. ... ... For the love of God. ... I'll tell you everything. ... Anything... What do you want to hear?

My words trail off into more sobs. Rachel merely smirks. I am prepared to tell her everything. Anything actually, as long as she does not use that red monster on me.

- Jeez, giving in already? That's quick. Now, let's see if you're as good at talking as you are at crying. Because if you don't spill every last detail, this little toy is going to become your worst nightmare. And trust me, you won't enjoy it nearly as much as you did Denise's handiwork. If you lie to me, I'll strap this baby around my waist and impale you on it, like I have done with so many inadequate men. One thrust is usually enough to tear a man's ass apart and having his insides oozing all over the floor. Hahaha! So, think before you talk. Was that your load on Denise's arm?

- Yes.

- What did she do?

- She gave me a prostate handjob.

- Did you know you weren't supposed to cum?

- Yes.

- Why did you have an orgasm then?

- Denise gave me no choice. I asked her to stop, but she just continued jacking me off.

- Did you like it?

- Yes. I passed away from the extreme arousal. Never experienced anything like that before. Just like the sex with Aletta. It is sex from another dimension.

Rachel chuckles at my admission, relishing in my vulnerability.

- So, you enjoyed it, hmm? Aletta won't be pleased to hear that her little plaything was getting off with someone else. You're lucky she hasn't torn you limb from limb already.

My heart sinks at the thought of Aletta's wrath, knowing that I am already in deep trouble.

- And how do you feel about this whole situation?

I shrink under her piercing stare, feeling the weight of my betrayal bearing down on me. I hear my voice stammer, barely above a whisper.

- I... I feel terrible about it. I never felt so bad about something so good. I know I messed up, Rachel. I know I deserve whatever punishment Aletta has in store for me.

Rachel's lips curl into a cruel smile, her eyes glittering with sadistic amusement.

- Mmm, good to hear you're still able to produce witty talk, M. Rosenberg. I like that in a man. You're in no position however, to determine if you are deserving. Men determine nothing. Not even  -- or better: especially not  -- their punishment! I call the shots, got that?

I nod silently, not wanting to cause any more anger.

- The thing is that I have been asked to do things to you that I have been doing professionally for years. Things I have developed, trained, perfected in the more than hundred companies I worked for as a high-end, corporate troubleshooter. As a productivity consultant, as I call it. An obedience manager. I never fail getting men in line, in getting the best out of the employees. Wherever I come, productivity skyrockets. Work weeks of 80 or 90 hours become the norm. Working overtime becomes standard. Wages are cut, usually in half. Voluntarily. Without complaints.

Holy fuck! What is this all about? These women are simply ruthless. This Rachel is a bomb.

- Well, let me tell you, M. Rosenberg. Some do complain, but imagine me entering a big landscape office with some twenty men busy at work. I am all pumped-up after a gruelling work-out, dressed in a sleek black leather corset hugging my sculpted torso and emphasizing the swell of my ample chest, matching hotpants clinging to my ballooning glutes leaving little to the imagination and these commanding knee-high, stiletto-heeled platform boots. I am shiny with oil and sweat. And imagine me picking out one of the complainers and ordering him to strip naked. Everything about my look is intimidating  -- from the leather gloves that extend to my elbows to the dark smoky eyeshadow and bold red lipstick. Everything is meant to instill fear and submission. My domme look leaves no doubt that I am in charge. So, however strange the order, he complies. He hesitates somewhat when he has to remove his trunks. I notice the familiar bulge in his pants and I start operation humiliation: "Is your tiny worm getting hard? You like my dominance, don't you? Strip, I tell ya!" As he is standing there naked with a raging boner, he is embarrassed, just like everyone around him. Just the way I like it. His flabby, weak and unimpressive physique is exposed next to my rippling, sculpted muscles in dominatrix outfit. His posture lacks confidence, he breathes vulnerability. He is astutely aware of his physical inferiority. "Is that all you've got? Jeez, that's not a cock, that's a shrimp. And it is erect! Let me help you with your pathetic little cock. I'll show you what happens to those who complain or who fail to live up to my expectations. You're nothing!" And then I kick him in the groin. Hard. Powerful. See, M. Rosenberg, the tips of my platform boots are reinforced with steel. You know what that means, don't you?

I nod. I am totally shocked.

- So, you can imagine that the impact of my boot is devastating: he collapses to the ground, clutching his injured area and gasping for air. He is writhing in pain, groaning, unable to form coherent words. Blood is wetting his trembling fingers. His balls must be somewhere up his throat! "Next time, think twice before you challenge someone like me." Everybody is shocked by the extreme violence, and rightly so. The next few hours I pay a visit to every landscape office in the company and introduce all employees to the importance of obedience, compliance, and submission, always setting a clear example, showing my modus operandi. I always try to refrain from doing too much damage on the first day at the office. That saves my cleaning and legal teams the work of having to cover it all up. That day I only kicked 16 guys to death. Most men are quick learners. Some need some extra work. So, me and my team remain in a company for a week, setting examples, giving incentives, basically getting men in line using sexual humiliation and violence. You should see the dynamics when I jerk someone off in front of his colleagues. Or fistfuck him. Or break all his fingers. One by one. Slowly. Making sure everybody hears the nasty sounds of cracking bones and tearing ligaments. And the accompanying screams of pain and horror, the desparate pleas for mercy. And my mocking laughter. If I am in a forgiving mood, I stop with the fingers. If I am in a bad mood or if the emlpoyee really annoys me, I break every fucking bone in his body! Can you imagine how that affects the productivity of the others?

For the love of God, I wish I would wake up out of this nightmare. This woman is simply crazy.

- So, here's what I'm going to do: I am going to push Big Red down your throat  -- well, it'll go as deep as your guts! And then I'll fix this nice little strap, which is attached to Big Red, behind the back of your head and close the belt buckle making sure it stays deep into your throat. If you're lucky, I'll return after an hour. The slightest comment from your side adds another hour. Got that?

I nod. It is not the moment to bring up the fact that I am supposed to have a meeting with Aletta and that I don't want to be late. I can only pray to God that I will survive this encounter. As Rachel leans over me, I cannot help to notice how her powerful muscles ripple beneath the sleek fabric of her tight black top, the definition of her arms and shoulders is accentuated by the dim light of the room. Each movement causes a symphony of sinewy muscle mass to flex and shift. The veins in her arms stand out in stark relief, coursing with raw power as she holds the massive red phallus. And then she plunges Big Red into my mouth, the massive dildo stretching my jaws to their limits as she forces it down my throat. I gag and choke, my body convulses in a desperate attempt to expel the intruding object again.

- Come on now, M. Rosenberg, surely you can do better than this. Hahaha!

The sensation of being forcibly penetrated by the object triggers a desperate reflex, but Rachel's iron grip leave me utterly helpless. With agonizing slowness, Rachel pushes the phallus deeper into my mouth, each inch of progress is met with a wave of gagging and retching as my throat struggles to accommodate the massive intrusion. Her muscles tense with controlled strength, her biceps bulging majestically as she exerts pressure against my resistance.

- Having trouble, little worm?

My whole body rebels against the violation, I gag continuously and I start to vomit, the taste of rubber mingling with the bitter tang of bile. Tears stream down my cheeks as I gasp for air, the sensation of suffocation becoming overwhelming with each moment passing. My body heaves with effort and I struggle to catch my breath, but Rachel shows no mercy, her grip unyielding as she continues to push the phallus deeper and deeper, her muscles flexing with relentless determination. The pressure in my throat builds to a fever pitch, driving me to the brink of panic. I choke and sputter, my body writhing and convulsing in agony, but it is futile. Rachel's strength is overpowering, her dominance absolute as she pushes me past any form of submission. I am beyond submission.

- Having trouble taking it all, hmm?

Her sexy voice drips with mockery.

- I thought you were supposed to be a tough guy, but it looks like you're just a pathetic little toy for me to play with. And toys break, don't they?

I want to scream, to beg for mercy, but all that escapes my lips are muffled gurgles as the phallus presses against the back of my throat. My muscles strain against the bonds that hold me captive. The sheer size of Big Red threatens to crush me from within. I struggle to breathe, to swallow, to do anything to alleviate the overwhelming sensation of having this monstrous phallus inside my throat. And then, just when I think I cannot take it anymore, Rachel secures the strap behind my head, locking Big Red in place and sealing my fate. The belt buckle clicks shut with a finality that sends a shiver down my spine, leaving me trapped and helpless. I gag and I gurgle. This is hell. A minute seems like an eternity.

- Bye, M. Rosenberg. I am going to relax in the jacuzzi, surrounded by men who would die to give me a good time. They probably will. Hehe.

I hear Rachel's departing footsteps, the sound of her confident stride fading into the distance.

[hero141]

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[WittyKatarina]

Damn, Rachel is such a she-beast  ...Especially her super-devastating groin kick with her steel-toed boots. Luv her! 

[Prophaniti]

Ahh I really wanna see her go to work

[hero141]

Sorry for the long wait. I hope it was worth it... Enjoy!

I do not know how long I have been suffering -- it feels like forever.  A mixture of panic and helplessness has washed over me. The initial shock and discomfort have evolved into a sustained torment, each passing minute stretching into an eternity of agony. Time has blurred into a relentless continuum of pain and suffering. My body's involuntary reactions are the only means of protest, the incessant gurgles, gags and spasms convey the sheer brutality of my torture. Every minute drags on, a test of endurance against the unyielding phallus lodged in my throat. How I yearn for reprieve, for release from the suffocating presence of Big Red. I pray to God. How I pray. Suddenly a stunning female bodybuilder steps into the room, her hulking presence immediately commands my attention even though I feel like I am dying a hundred times. She is wearing a sleek, form-fitting white cocktail dress. The shiny fabric clings to her curves, accentuating the tremendously muscular physique beneath. It is the daring neckline that truly steals the show—a daring décolletage plunges to the very limits of decency, revealing a cleavage that would set cities ablaze! Her massive tits are nothing less than spectacular! This perfect pair can only belong to Aletta: huge, firm, round, shiny, the nipples prominently poking through her outfit. The dress is designed with strategically placed slits that extend up her thighs, showcasing her long, toned legs with each confident stride. Her ultra-muscular arms are on full display, revealing vascular, pumped-up muscles that speak of incredible strength. Her long, manicured nails are more than just a cosmetic accessory—they are sharp, dangerous, and meticulously maintained. Each nail looks like a lethal weapon, capable of inflicting pain or asserting dominance with a simple gesture. She completes her ensemble with ultra-high-heeled white ankle boots, adding height to her already imposing figure and emphasizing the lethal strength in her legs. The boots are sleek and commanding, their shiny leather finish reflecting the ambient light. I writhe in my constraints, open my eyes, trying to acknowledge her presence, my eyes pleading for mercy amidst the unrelenting agony. I want to express how sorry I am. I want to submit to her. To her power.

- Mmm, hi Henry.

Aletta's voice reveals a mix of amusement and mockery. My chest heaves with strained breaths, my body wracks with spasms of agony. Speaking is impossible. Bile and saliva are involuntarily dripping from my mouth. Muted sounds escape my constricted throat, a stark contrast to gorgeous Aletta's composed demeanor.

- You put up quite a show! Rachel is something, huh? She never fails to make a lasting impression on the men she deals with. It's not only lasting. It's often their last. Hahaha!

Aletta's gaze lingers on my helpless form, her demeanor exuding that potent mix of dominance and amusement.

- Look at you.

Her voice is dripping with condescension.

- What a manager you are. Tell me, Henry, how does it feel to be utterly at my mercy? You see, I expect total obedience. Unconditional compliance. You are lucky I explicitly asked Rachel not to hurt you too much. Normally, she would have slaughtered you. Consider yourself lucky that you had no idea about the danger you were in. Rachel's appetites with men are beyond crazy: we have had to keep her away from the male employees at our offices, because she had lured the youngest, cutest and most productive ones into a huge room in the basement which she had refurnished as torture dungeon. There they precariously dangled from the rafters, totally naked, wrists bound with thick rope. She spent days ripping them apart limb by limb, crushing every bone in their bodies, hitting them with a baseball bat or breaking them in as part of her martial arts routine. These poor boys did not stand a chance against her lethal curves, meticulously crafted and trained into a gorgeous weapon of devastating destruction. She is so technically skilled in martial arts that her kicks and punches exactly land where she wants them to land. Rachel is careful however, not to do them too quickly. Ruins the fun, she says. And she is right: we like to make our men last. Hahaha! Most employees died horrific deaths there. Some were left alive and were released to tell the tale. Productivity increased by a thousand per cent among the rest!

Aletta steps closer, her towering figure casting a shadow over me. Without a word and with a swift motion she reaches for the strap securing Big Red in place, her fingers deftly undoing the buckle that holds the phallus deep within my throat. I am so relieved as this ghastly thing is finally removed from my throat! I gasp for air, coughing and sputtering, my body convulsing with the release from that suffocating presence. Each breath is a victory, each moment free from the relentless torment is a blessing. Tears well in my eyes as I sit there, still bound and vulnerable, but no longer subjected to that infernal dildo. I feel my heartbeat slowing, my pulse steadying as I focus on regaining control of my composure -- well, at least I try to, because I suddenly start sobbing uncontrollably. I just cannot help it.

- It's the relief. Hahaha! Imagine having that beast up your throat for weeks. Natalya keeps hundreds of men locked up like that. Most have these huge butt-plugs too. When they think their life is hell, you should see their faces when Natalya has entered their cage and performs some of her magic which even the hardiest torturers at the Russian FSB would find totally out of bounds and greatly disturbing. Her favorite techniques involve sexual humiliation, lots of forced sex and severe cock and ball torture. She has the nasty habit to force the guys to watch how she fuck-slaughters the others. It is pure horror. It is reality snuff porn or real-life horror porn. It is not something you wanna watch if you know you are next. Hehe! Unless you enjoy watching the lubed-up curves of a female bodybuilder on full display: dressed in the most kinky outfits she shows off that ridiculously muscular and sexy physique of hers as she tortures dozens of her men to an inhumane death. Millions of watchers spend a fortune to watch her channel. When she sometimes releases the next in line, her lubed-up tits and muscles still dripping with the blood of her previous kills, tears of relief are common...

- ... Please, Aletta. Have mercy. ... Please. ...

Tears blur my vision, but the hourglass silhouette of the gorgeous big-titted brunette remains intimidatingly close and visible. My voice cracks.

- I should have asked Rachel to rip off your balls or break your legs. That's what I usually ask her to do with disobedient fuckers. These mutilated assholes then crowd the pens of our top-echelon management looking for meat to practice and perfect their torture skills on. There are no inhibitions whatsoever in how brutally our management treat these men. Denise for example  -- or should I say Elle  -- has a daily routine in which she does over one thousand man per day. Per day! Can you imagine? Per fucking day. You could be one of them.

- O God, Aletta. Please, I was forced. I would never be disobedient to you. I submit myself to you. Totally. Unconditionally.

Suddenly Aletta's expression shifts and she starts roaring with laughter. I do not understand why.

- I kinda like you, Henry. Fuck, how I love this prank!

Prank? Aletta cannot stop laughing as she enjoys the expression on my face which must be one of confusion and disbelief. She frees me from the cable zip ties that keep me attached to the chair by simply taking them between thumb and index and pulling them apart, snapping them. I drop to my knees in total submission and kiss her ultra-high-heeled white ankle boots.

- You've been granted a temporary reprieve, Henry. You passed the loyalty test. It is something me and Denise love to do: test the obedience of the men we want to keep as servants. Setting up a situation to test loyalty and then toy a little bit with the man in question. Showing who's who around here. Getting them to meet Rachel. She would have gruesomely tortured and slaughtered any other guy. You will learn to appreciate her skills when you are not at the receiving end. Trust me. You will soon find out. Our management has given you the order to get signatures under some legal documents. They all deal with taking over other companies without any legal liabilities. There is a small sum for each board member if he signs. Read the documents and you will see. There is little to no room for negotiation. So, you would better take Rachel and Natalya with you to make sure you get the signatures. Management is counting on you. Failing is not an option. Got that?

I manage to nod. I cannot believe this whole torture was a prank. A fucking prank!

- Get dressed. O, and I will free you of your penis cage. It is no use to abstain from anything when you are on the road with those two nymphos. I don't care how many times you cum. I asked them to be gentle, but you never know with these two. So, obey them at all times. They're maniacs.

--

Half an hour later I am dressed in my most expensive costume, sitting in the back of a huge limo. The limousine's luxurious plush interior is a stark contrast to the steely glint in Natalya's gorgeous eyes. She is sitting sprawled across the leather seat, the barely-there fabric of her red silk cocktail dress struggling to contain the outrageous swell of her chest. Her obviously artificially enhanced boobs blend perfectly with the roided muscle mass surrounding them. Her upper body is simply orgasmic and I lose all reason by just looking at these fabulously huge, firm and ballooning tits! This babe is a total bimbo, a perfect muscle barbie. I can see every curve of her body, which has been sculpted by years of heavy gym work, her deeply tanned skin gleaming with a sheen of oil that accentuates the play of light on her rippling musculature. Bodybuilding has transformed this extraordinary beauty into a gorgeous muscle goddess, oozing raw power and absolute dominance. The dress, a plunging affair that dips daringly low, threatens to reveal even more of her ample assets with every breath. Her legs and arms are left bare and it is easy to understand why: they speak power in every language! Every inch of her terrific limbs ripples intimidatingly: her bulging physique consist of layer upon layer of agonizing and lethal power, sculpted with a fullness that defies imagination. Her biceps are not just pronounced or bulging. They are cartoonesque mounds of the firmest, densest and most hypertrophied muscle mass I have ever seen. As she re-adjusts herself on the leather seat, I notice that her wide back is bare too, a smooth sun-tanned canvas etched with the intricate network of muscles that also speaks volumes about her raw physical power. Her legs are so fucking impressive: even to pro male bodybuilding standards the sheer size and muscularity of her long shapely legs is mindblowing! The deeply tanned skin is oiled so lavishly that I can see very muscular ridge, every striation, every differentiation in her bulging thighs, her tear-drop quads being the most obvious indicator that Natalya does not skip leg day. And her skimpy dress does very little to hide her alluring physique: I get a glimpse of the strip of her thong playing between her obviously wet labia. The elegant ultra-high-heeled pumps only add to her dominant aura. With these pumps fetish meets fashion: I see the extremely high and thin silver heels shine ominously. The pumps' black glossy leather cover and the equally glossy red platforms fitting the color of her dress make a striking combo. They have these potent leather straps with razor-sharp spikes and studs around her ankles. These straps look sexy as hell on her long shapely legs and highlight the extreme definition of her diamond-shaped calves. I have the impression that these spikes serve other purposes as well... A high ponytail swishes with each flick of her head, the only hint of a playful side amidst the aura of raw female superiority she exudes. Her final touch, the one that sent a shiver down my spine, is the glint of her ultra-long nails – razor-sharp and meticulously polished. They gleam under the soft light, a constant reminder that this beauty hides a lethal edge. It reminds me of the brutal scene in the car with Steve. This bimbo is a bomb!

Next to her is Rachel, the ravishing beauty I met before, the sadistic enforcer. She embodies the very picture of an ultra-dominant Amazon: even more so than Natalya, her outfit shows she is a domme, a woman commanding total obedience. Her black leather outfit, a sort of kinky corset, low-cut and shiny, clings to her like a second skin, highlighting her voluptuous muscular curves that seem to live a life of their own. The suit is all about accentuating the wasp-waist of her ultra-sexy torso widening into these immensely broad shoulders, the cleavage of her bountiful breasts drawing my gaze. Rachel is living proof that bodybuilding and femininity go hand in hand. Her muscular physique simply enhances her naturally feminine features: sleek long legs, firm bubble butt, tiny wasp waist, impressive v-taper and curvy torso. Her skin is so shiny, so sleek with the oil she has been rubbed in with. She is literally dripping with oil! Jeez, how sexy can you be? Her powerful physique promises both danger and unimaginable pleasure. Every ripple of her dreambody speaks of raw female power held in check. Her biceps, the size of some men's thighs, bulge ominously, her thighs rippling with each powerful movement. Her long dark hair is fixed in a tight bun highlighting the insane development of her traps and the graceful muscular line of her neck and insanely broad shoulders. Her black leather boots with the impossibly high stiletto spikes are not just footwear. They are an extension of her power: elegant, polished to a high shine, hugging her calves, accentuating the powerful flow of muscle into her legs and ending just below the knees. Domme wear. A confident grin crosses her lips and she winks at me. I notice her full lips, painted a deep berry, and how they stretch into a feline smile. My God, I almost cum there and then. I am so aroused by her alluring presence. This woman is so insanely sexy!

- Having fun, Henry?

It is Natalya. Natalya seems to have noticed my intense arousal and sexily purs the words, her voice a husky caress. Her biceps, the size of watermelons, flex as she leans forward, the expanse of her inviting cleavage threatening to spill out of her dress. I swallow hard and manage to stammer, my gaze darting between the two women. They are not only drop-dead gorgeous, they embody my wet dream, my ultimate fantasy. And they know it.

- Y-yes, of course. Fun it is. My colleagues turn out to be two gorgeous bodybuilders and I have a weakness for female muscle.

Natalya grins.

- A weakness for female muscle, huh? You've been hard ever since you entered this car, you inferior dog. ... He is gonna cum, Rach.

- I know. The visual stimulation is just too much for him. I hate it when men cum without permission. Open your legs, Henry.

I hesitate for the slightest second, not wanting to expose the raging boner in my trousers.

- Open your fucking legs!

I startle at the sudden aggression in Rachel's voice. She is certainly not used to being ignored or disobeyed. I immediately do as ordered and expose the bulge in my pants to the two dommes. I feel deeply embarrassed. Insecure. Both woman seem amused.

- Is having an erection in front of two female colleagues legal ground for having you fired, M. Rosenberg? Does that count as sexual harassment? Hahaha! Don't worry. My legal team  -- which includes some men from your department  -- is used to covering up my sexual transgressions as corporate troubleshooter. I have had lots of complaints filed against me. Usually, some ultra-aggressive legal bullying shuts up the complainers. Or if legal discourse is not enough, Karen, Natalya or me honor them with a visit. They never complain again. Hehe.

A split second later and quick as lightning Rachel launches her fist and hits me hard between my legs, almost crushing my balls. Pain, white-hot and agonizing, explodes through my torso. I crumple in the seat, gasping for breath, my vision swimming. Rachel looms over me, her gorgeous face devoid of any amusement, the playful flirtation replaced by a cold indifference, malice in her eyes.

- Show some control, will you? You don't want your expensive suit to be dripping with cum now, do you?
We have got a board meeting to attend, and frankly, your arousal is starting to annoy me. Do we actually need this fucking legal dude?

Natalya smiles her predatory smile.

- Relax, Rach. I know you stick to your own law  -- the survival of the fittest  -- but we promised not to kill him. He may prove useful. These corporate weasels will fold like cheap suits once they get a whiff of what we have in store for them. What's your plan, spreadsheet-boy? Do you have a plan?

- Sure, I prepared a speech on asset regulation and ...

But Natalya interrupts me.

- Shut up, Henry. Quit the  legal shit. You have us at your disposal: two unstoppable killing machines. We devoted our entire lives to training these bodies to be weapons of mass destruction. Governements invested billions in a genetic engineering programme, advanced roid treatment and elite training to create the perfect soldier and that is what we are: trained to kill, but unfortunately for those who invested in us, only loyal to our own appetites. Power, sex and violence. They should have expected we would kill everyone on the programme and go for our own pleasure. Jeez, scientists: so smart and yet so stupid.

My heart hammers against my ribs at the revelation. I am petrified. In terms of bargaining power, they are excellent. But the violence? The sex? Surely there must be another way.

- We can negotiate, make them an offer they can't refuse. You'll make an awesome impression.

Rachel is visibly annoyed, a cruel glint entering her eyes. She bangs the closed window behind her which separates us from the driver.

- Oh, I plan on making quite the impression, asshole. Those spineless suits will be begging to hand over the property rights by the time I start doing them. Do we have to keep listening to his shit, Natalya? Let's fuck him up.

The window automatically opens and Rachel barks to the driver:

- How long until we reach target?

I can hear the fear and insecurity in the driver's voice when he answers that it's only five minutes but that the traffic is heavy. As the window closes again, a humorless smile plays on Rachel's lips.

- It's that Hank again. Did you hear him shiver in fear? Hahaha! He should consider himself lucky I only broke one of his arms yesterday, Nat. We could have punished him much more severely for being 10 seconds late at the pick-up! Hahaha!

- That's after you broke five of his fingers, Rach, you evil bitch! He is a driver, you know. Needs his hands.

- Men only need their tongue. To lick.

Both beauties roar with laughter.

- Consider yourself lucky, law boy. Five minutes is too short for the total experience, but a little foreplay might work.

Natalya's smile turns predatory as she also turns to me:

- A little intimidation never hurt anyone... Well, except maybe those who do not deserve it. Hehe.

Rachel leans forward, pinning me with a stare that could curdle milk. 

- You seem to have forgotten your place, Henry. We're the muscle, you're the glorified legal assistant. Remember that.

Before I can stammer out a reply, the limo lurches to a stop. Rachel's lips curve into a sadistic smile:

- Mmm, lucky again. The day is not done yet...

And she elegantly exits the limo, giving me a glimpse of her killer ass, a fantastic Brazilian bubble-butt, striations visible all over those glorious glutes.

- Time to play persuader, wouldn't you say, Natalya?

Natalya leans in close again, the scent of musk filling my nostrils, arousing me again. Despite the fear that coils in my gut, a traitorous part of my brain registers the way the oil clings to her impressive form, highlighting every ripple of muscle beneath.

- Having second thoughts about the little soiree, Henry?

The long and sharp nail of Natalya's thumb brushes against my cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle considering the monstrous muscles backing it up. I am petrified.

- N-no...

I stammer, my voice barely a squeak. I can feel the heat radiating from her superior hot-bod, a stark contrast to the clammy coldness of my own. Natalya's lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile.

- Good, because these big muscles get lonely without a little... exercise.

Natalya's voice is no more than a murmur, as she leans in even closer until her breath tickles my ear. Her voice drops to a whisper, sending a thrill of terror and something akin to morbid fascination down my spine. The nearness of her big shiny boobs drives me crazy with lust. She sure knows how to turn up the heat.

- Don't make a sound.

And I feel an experienced hand fondling my testicles through my trousers. Grabbing them. Massaging them. First, her touch is heavenly, but quickly her grip tightens and when her fingers start juggling my testicles, nearly crushing them, I know it is suffering she is after. And my God, how I suffer. The pain is simply excruciating! She is squeezing the life out of me. I want to scream, but the sheer terror of being punished by her keeps me silent. I have learnt by now that the slightest disobedience gets you in trouble. My hands grab the arm she holds me with and I revel at how monstrously big, dense and firm her muscles are. This babe is so jacked! Her deeply tanned skin is so smooth and taut, and I feel the underlying hardness and pulsating life beneath the shiny surface. It is surreal. What a sensation blending with my pain and suffering. Natalya grins when she releases her iron grip. I feel such relief and I audibly gasp.

- Good boy. If I wanted them crushed, they would be crushed. It is not because we allow you to make use of our services during these board meetings, that even the slightest misstep will not go unpunished. Death by castration is the lightest punishment. So you don't wanna know what I have in store for you when I really want you to suffer. Or do you? Hahaha! For now, consider yourself lucky we have other meat to play with. Don't get hard again until we tell you to and we might let you live through this day. Got that?

I nod. How I nod. I am not sure, however, how I will able to comply with her order with two specimens of my deepest sexual fantasies keep walking next to me... When Rachel joins us again, I see how she carefully pulls off a tight black latex glove dripping with huge blobs of a whitish sticky liquid. I have no doubt about what it is and where it comes from. Another look at the limo gives me a glimpse of Hank's face as the driver's window slowly closes. His face is drawn in what looks like a delirium, a post-orgasmic bliss.

- Did Hank bring the bags with our stuff, Rachel?

- Sure, including towels and body oil.

- How thoughtful of him. Perhaps he hopes to be the one to be allowed to oil these babies. Can't blame him... Still one good hand to do it with. Hahaha!

Indeed, who would not want to oil her up? I get excited just thinking about it. The sheer size of Natalya's boobs alone drives me crazy...

- He even brought our bags with paraphernalia. He is so diligent. So pro-active. And he's cute. And eager to please.

Natalya looks with a sly grin in Rachel's direction.

- We may give Hank a taste of the goodies in the bags. I'm sure he would love you giving him some quality time, Rachel. Hahaha! Don't tell me you haven't seen him staring at you.

- Sure, I know, but who doesn't stare when I'm dressed like a fucking muscle domme from a porn flick? Men lose their minds. And then some... There was a red rose in my bag with a note: 'For my favorite boss. H.'. So, sure: I gave him some quality time.

- Yeah, I see. Once?

Rachel chuckles amusedly.

- He got lucky: allowed him to cum twice. I think I like him. The thing is: he won't be able to stroke himself for some time now. I broke all his remaining good fingers too. Hahaha!

- Fuck, Rachel, you're evil! Who's gonna drive us now?

- No worries. Hank will drive. One of our flying doctor is on his way to treat him, as we speak. I didn't kill him, you know.

- No, you didn't. Not yet.

Rachel grins mischievously.

- I promised to pay him a visit tonight wearing my ultra-tight leather nurse's uniform. I ensured myself of the best cunnilingus in weeks. This guy is a virtuoso with his mouth. I might let him live. For a while at least. Hahaha!

It takes all my willpower not to cower and run away in panic as we walk towards the impressive office building while the women continue to talk shop. About sex and violence. About torture fun. And boy, do they love their work! These babes are totally nuts. I fear for what is to come...

--

The opulent lobby of the tech company headquarters does little to soothe my rising panic. It is a sterile, minimalist expanse of glass and chrome. When we enter the lobby, we must be a strange sight to digest. Rachel and Natalya strut their stuff like a pair of predators looking for a prey. With calculated aggression. Showing off their imposing physiques. All heads snap up taking in the sight of these extraordinary women oozing dominance and superiority. Conversations hush, eyes widen in a mixture of awe, fear and arousal. I see lots of men reacting with what must be an involuntary surge of primal attraction, a normal response to such overwhelming sexual presence, I would say. Gazes are drawn to the voluptuous curves on full display. Those male executives  -- most men in the lobby are well-dressed management types  -- drink in their physical perfection, their extravagant outfit only highlighting their brutal physicality. Rachel and Natalya obviously love the attention they are getting. Statuesque and confident, that is how we go into the direction of the elevators as Natalya and Rachel each playfully ask an expensively dressed executive to join them. The guys' faces, a reflection of wealth and privilege, simply pale as their eyes fall on these two imposing female bodybuilders dressed to kill asking them to join us.

- Is there a party or something?

- Yes, and we are the cake. Care to taste?

A split second later both men are roughly shoved into the empty elevator as the doors slide open. Even before the doors close again, the two babes rip off the men's trousers and leave them standing there naked waist-down, their cocks fully erect! Shock is written all over their faces. Their initial arrogance and condescension has changed into a combination of awe and fear. The confined space is amplifying the tension. There is so little room in the elevator that I now and then bounce against the large expanse of Natalya's thigh, her muscles feel like pillars of granite, like touching marble. She positions herself in the middle of the small space, so that we all have perfect view the layers upon layers of glistening female muscles, dwarfing everybody except for Rachel, whose glorious amazonian physique shines beautifully in the bright lights of the elevator. Their muscular frames simply fill the elevator as they both lean in close to the guys, their hands almost inadvertently starting to manipulate the men's crotches, their experienced, long-nailed fingers expertly teasing their balls, cupping them in the palm of their hand, gently squeezing them, massaging them, turning up the heat. Rachel's tongue wets his ear as she sexily purrs:

- Mmm, what do we have here? You must be happy to see us. What floor is the board meeting, baby?

- ... Top floor. 68th.

With a slight nod of her head Natalya orders me to push the button. As the lift starts its ascent, the men are further drawn into another world. A world where muscle babes rule, where female power and beauty are the ultimate currency, where men's only way to survive is obedience. Where disobedience means punishment. Rachel grabs his straining erection and jerks it a couple of times. He gasps in arousal.

- Jeez, horny fuck! You like my oiled up muscular body, don't you? My domme-look?

He nods. Rachel puts on these short black latex gloves I saw her wearing when she returned from Hank, our driver. I do not know where she gets them from, but my God, do they look gorgeous on her! When she notices my gaze, she smiles and winks lasciviously. Is there no way I can hide my fantasies from these beauties? I feel embarrassed. Exposed.

- I may jerk you off too, Henry. I may even wear gloves doing you. I wonder how long you would last... You'd probably not get past my first pump. Hehe. Men say my grip is heavenly. ... Let's see how this executive fuck reacts. Don't cum.

Suddenly I see the executive gulp in shock, a slight moan escaping his mouth, his eyes wildly searching for some reassurance, pleadingly looking at Rachel, whose eyes glint with playful sadism. He looks completely overwhelmed. Totally shocked. I notice how one of her hands is firmly holding his shaft, her thumb and index expertly massaging his cockhead; the other hand has disappeared under his crotch, one of her fingers probably shoved up his ass... Rachel surely knows her way around a guy's crotch! The temperature in the elevator goes from hot to scorching.

- I just gave you the finger. A virgin asshole, right?

He nods again. Unsure. Unable to maintain his composure. Rachel just transformed this privileged alpha-man into an insecure submisssive schlemiel in just a matter of seconds. Sexually humiliating him with one finger up his ass.

- Jeez, you're so fucking tight, but you do have an on-switch, don't you?

Rachel's executive totally loses it. His body starts shaking all over, writhing in front of Rachel's muscular splendor. Her finger must be performing magic inside his ass, manipulating his prostate in ways he never deemed possible, arousing him to the max without release. His cock looks purple with excitement in her gloved hand.

- Mmm, yeah. That's what I thought. Don't even think of cumming or I'll rip you apart. Just breathe in and out. As long as you can.

- Wow, Rach, you are such a quick learner. Men call me the prostate queen, but your dexterity shows plenty of talent and practice. I am not quickly impressed, but here I am.

I notice the sly smile on Rachel gorgeous face.

- Ever since you showed me the secrets of prostate massage, I haven't stopped fingering men's asses! Hahaha! And it is just like you predicted: it makes them so vulnerable, so submissive, so weak. They indeed lose all control. I love it!

Meanwhile also Natalya is playing with her man and God, is he hung. He is built like a porn actor.

- Now, that's a cock! Rachel, this is our lucky day. This dude is hung like Bethany's boytoys.

Natalya gently cups his testicles in the palm of her hand, and admiringly assesses the thick and veiny shaft of his erection, the cockhead shining beautifully.

- Holy fuck, where have you been hiding?

The huge bodybuilder slowly moves her long-nailed index finger along the length of his shaft.

- You're so fucking big and hard. I'm gonna take your big guy into my mouth and suck the living daylights out of you!

I see him nod, his mouth open in awe. He looks in some sort of trance, totally mesmerized by the hulking bimbo in front of him. Being near these two gorgeous muscle babes whose pumped-up brawn takes up all space in this tiny elevator, is indeed one of the most arousing experiences I have ever had. Everything about their bodies is huge, intimidating and reflects raw female power! Their super-sexy outfits highlight their tantalizing muscular curves whose shiny, suntanned surface ripples in response to the slightest movement. Everything about them is perfection, however close you look--and I am so close Natalya that she practically envelops me with her presence. She smells so fucking good! I cannot stop staring at her fabulous tits: they are so big and shiny, her nipples are hard as nails and beautifully pierced. I feel the familiar stirring in my trousers, but I am able to prevent getting a hard-on. And at exactly that moment the executive cums: huge loads of sperm erupt from his monster cock in what seems like an endless orgasm. Natalya's enthusiasm is suddenly gone. My God, she does not look amused. Her facial expression reveals dissappointment and anger, like when you deprive a child of its favorite toy. Quickly Natalya's gorgeous eyes gleam with cold malice, showing a burning desire for revenge, probably thinking over possible ways to inflict pain and suffering. I can see her pumped-up muscles tensing under her shiny, flawless skin, her ridiculously voluptuous body is simply rippling with power.

- Fuck, Rachel, mine just came all over my arm. How fucking stupid can you be? You must have guessed my line of work?

- ... I am sorry ... O God, I am sorry!

- Look, asshole. You are going to lick your shit from my perfect skin and then I am going to punish you for your lack of control. What's fucking wrong with you? I know I'm sexy, but men usually get past the tenth floor...

[Prophaniti]

Awesome stuff man, and I can't wait to see how she makes him suffer for the next 50+ floors

[WittyKatarina]

Hey, great to see you back! And great to see Rachel back too. I keep trying to think who she reminds me of. 

Once Rachel and Natalya start "taking care of business" I expect all the males in the boardroom will start wishing they were never born...

[hero141]

Glad to hear you like it. Indeed, they won't be gentle... These men in the boardroom have no idea what they are about to experience. 

[hero141]

Sorry for the long wait. I hope this piece is worth it: Natalya and Rachel kick ass. Karma is appreciated. Comments too. Enjoy!

As the elevator continues to hum softly as it ascends, the atmosphere changes, and becomes charged with tension. Natalya's imposing frame makes the small space even tighter as she confronts him with the huge blubs of semen dripping from her ballooning biceps and thick forearm, veined and pumped in competition shape! I try not to stare at her muscular body gleaming under the dim elevator lights, but how could I not stare? The reflection of her body in the polished mirrored walls of the elevator only amplifies her sheer physicality: each muscular curve and ridge is emphasized by the tight, shimmering fabric of her red silk cocktail dress, the plunging neckline showcasing the deep, sculpted lines of her massive chest and the fullness of her cleavage. Her oiled, deeply tanned skin beautifully catches the fluorescent light, which highlights the sharp definition of her shoulders and arms. A daring thigh-high split runs up to her hips and reveals her bulging quads rippling with every shift of her weight. The aura of raw sexuality she exudes is simply mesmerizing. The executive avoids making eye contact, his face flushed, as he starts licking. His initial repulsion makes room for an enthousiasm that probably speaks more of a growing terror than of an intrinsic motivation to savor his own semen. Her lips curl into a wicked grin. My God, she is so beautiful, that smoky eyeshadow, that glossy lipstick, that perfectly styled hair.

- Mmm, that's more like it. Lick it. Lick.

--

Suddenly I startle from a harrowing scream coming from Rachel's executive. It is a heart-rending squeal suggesting a level of pain beyond anything normal. All I see is that Rachel has one gloved hand around his shaft while the other firmly holds his testicles. To me, this image will be forever carved into my mind's eye as the epitome of female dominance, as the natural symbol of female power: a gorgeous female bodybuilder, a stunning and curvy Latina in competition shape, all dressed up in shiny leather and high-heeled boots, whose pumped-up muscles are shiny with oil and who is holding a man by his crotch, lifting him so high his toes hardly touch the ground, and whose bulging hyper-muscular arms are bigger than his torso, humiliating him physically, dominating him verbally. By the looks of it, I can hardly believe what I see, Rachel is rolling his testicles between her fingers. He goes berserk with pain, crying and screaming in agony, writhing in her strong grip, his body convulsing, his hands trying to push her away, but it is no use. You might as well trying to move a concrete wall. She seductively purrs:

- How do you like the appetizer, huh? Wanna taste the rest of the menu?

Rachel visibly enjoys humiliating him physically and ridicules his futile attempts to stop her from doing whatever she wants with him. Her eyes gleam with excitement as she keeps on manipulating his balls, kneeding them, squeezing them, making him shift uncomfortably in her iron grip, his eyes darting around the small space. His hands reach out, trembling, placing them on Rachel's bicep, the muscle swelling to an impossible size, her veins standing out like a road map. She tilts her head as if examining his reaction.

- Tell me, have you ever seen a woman with arms like these?

There is a sultry edge to her words, her tone mocking yet oddly affectionate. He shakes his head and stammers, his voice cracking.

- ... Eaaah... No. Please... ... oooooaaa... Let me go! I beg you. ... Ooaaa!

- That's right. Feel what real power is like. Nothing you've ever worked for could make you strong enough to match this.

His hands--unwillingly I suppose--explore the impossible size and hardness of the arm she holds him with, as she teasingly flexes her biceps, making it pop dramatically. The guy's frame is dwarfed by her impossible size. She smirks as she flexes. Rachel is such a tease and it frightens the shit out of me! Everything she does, has that flirty dominant edge to it, as if she is always reasserting her superiority, both verbally as well as physically. And there is no way denying that superiority. Jeez, she is female power personified! I realize how exceptionally broad Rachel's shoulders are: they are capped with muscle, the deltoids rounded like cannonballs and shimmering under the gleaming oil. Her boobs are breathtaking, her massive cleavage framed perfectly by the plunging neckline of her latex corset, which barely contains the full, firm curves of her muscular yet feminine bust. His awed gasp is met with a mocking chuckle. Her confidence obviously swallows his feeble attmpts to meet her gaze. He must be in so much pain.

- You like that, huh?

And then Rachel simply closes her fingers. Just like that. He goes haywire: a hig-pitched squeal escapes his lips. O my God, she must have crushed his balls to paste within his sack! For Rachel this just looks like another day at the office: she is so in control, her actions show plenty of practice and experience. This is so beyond any conception of normality that I can hardly fathom what I have just witnessed. And yet, however shocked and terrified I am, I find myself being attracted to this drop-dead gorgeous alpha-woman, this ultra-sadistic domme, this super-sexy female bodybuilder... I want to submit to her. Serve her. Worship every inch of her pumped-up bulging brawn.

- Fuck, I'm going to enjoy doing this loser. If you start doing yours, Natalya, try not to make it too bloody. I'm not sure if I packed another outfit than this one. ... It is not that I mind showing off the fruits of my hard work in the gym and walk around naked, but it's M. Rosenberg here. He promised not to get hard, and I wonder if he keeps his promises. Do you, M. Rosenberg?

I startle. Before I have time to answer, she turns her attention to the executive again, his body writhing in her iron grip, spasming uncontrollably. He is screaming in total agony. He must be in so much pain, but the super-sized bimbo simply holds him by his balls, keeping him lifted, his feet slightly off the ground desparately seeking for some support but getting none. She aggressively hisses:

- Fucking asshole, stop screaming!

And Rachel keeps holding him aloft in that awkward position, her grip unwavering. What can he do? His two hands grab the ultra-muscular arm she holds him with, trying to push it away, but the attempt is ludicrous. Her arm holds more muscle than his entire body, the hyper-trophied development simply insane. It looks like a pumped-up, vascular monster! And the she snarls:

- Shut the fuck up! You wanted à la carte, you will get your special treatment. Hang on.

And with a sudden jerk Rachel lifts him even higher, squeezing his testicles even tighter, a sadistic smile playing on her shiny lips. The grimace on the man's face, the sweat, the clenched jaw muscles, the wide eyes rageing in panic all testify of the excruciating pain he is in. It is especially the high-pitched shrill scream and the shorter sharp cries that shock me the most. His body convulses as he absorbs the onslaught and struggles to get rid of her hand around his balls. My God, this is horrific!

- Did you feel that, huh? I just crushed your balls. I could feel how they imploded in your sack. You must have felt it too. Hahaha! You're such a loud bastard.

The man's screaming and incoherent cursing comes to a terrifying climax. Rachel stays focused and uncermoniously grabs the back of his head, keeping him from dropping on the elevator floor. Her other gloved hand plunges into his mouth, forcing it open, uncaring about over-stretching his jaws. Her invasion is so brutal that I hear how tendons are being torn apart, a horrifying noise, just to provide entry for her clenched fist, pushing it so deep that her fingers probably start hitting against the back of his mouth. When she starts fist-fucking his mouth, pulsing her hand deeper and harder, he thrashes and struggles as the gagging reflex kicks in. My God, this is such a violent act: to see her gloved hand--backed up by all these magnificent muscles--enter his mouth and destroy everything in its way, is so simple, so direct, so brutal. And suddenly the screaming stops. Just like that. Until I hear an even more disconcerting sound: that of someone wheezing, of someone who is trying to scream but the only sound escaping his throat is a wheezing rattle. His eyes bulge, his breath comes in ragged gasps, his body is thrashing wildly. The sudden silence in the elevator is eerie, uncanny. Rachel looks at him struggling and takes him in an intimate embrace, some kind of bearhug, pushing him into her protruding tits. She is so stacked! I almost envy him.

- That's more like it. I destroyed his vocal chords. It's something I do a lot with these noisy motherfuckers. It's not gonna kill him immediately, but he'll choke in his own blood eventually. I cannot let that happen now, can I? I'm not that bad. Hahaha!

I see Rachel's massive arms tightening around his torso, I see the ballooning muscles straining and flexing, their bulging mass simply thicker and tighter than anything about the executive. He frantically struggles to break free.

- Jeez, men would sell their wives to be embraced by me. Am I too tight?

A smug smile plays on her glossed lips. Her towering form looms over him as she glances down and effortlessly increases the painful pressure on his ribs, simply squeezing the air out of his lungs. And then I hear the first ribs giving in. And then some more.

- Are my tits too much for you? You will find out that my body is engineered for sex and violence. And for violence and sex. Hehe. I am a Pentagon trained weapon of mass destruction. Black belt in every martial arts, sniper with any gun, seasoned in any torture technique, Olympic level gymnast, pro bodybuilder and expert in the male anatomy with a special interest in cocks and balls. Hehe.

The sound of breaking bone echoes in the confined space, a terrifying contrast to the silence that has preceded it. His eyes widen in terror as he must feel the bones in his ribs beginning to give in and crack. A searing agony makes him gasp for air, because I see his body convulsing, desperate to escape the crushing force, but she continues to squeeze, totally disforming his ribcage, making sure he has all the trouble in the world to breathe. She makes it look so easy. His torso is no match for her curvy v-taper, her sizeable tits adding to the intimidating size of her upper body tightly squeezed into that ultra-sexy latex corset. She looks so kinky in the shiny latex, so dominant. A fetish goddess. Every inch perfect. His ribcage hardly offers any resistance to her superior power and she deliberately slowly crushes his torso. Suddenly I hear a horrible liquid gurgle and the crackling noises erupting from his chest indicating his ribcage is being splintered. This splintering is accompanied by these disturbingly wet crunching sounds of bones being pulverized. And gristle being ripped. I can see these horribly unnatural bumps forming in his expensive costume, showing how ribs and splintered bones are erupting from his chest and back and pushing against his clothing. Her ultra-sexy full lips, glossy with berry-colored lipstick, turn into a feral grin.

- Mmmm, baby. You will be surprised to see how long your ribcage will try to continue to breathe normally... Few people experience this first-hand. You will. Consider it to be a privilege: to experience how freaking good I am at my job: setting examples so that others crawl in total submission and do whatever I order them to do.

For a fraction of a second I feel her gorgeous eyes looking at me.

- With those ribs broken and your lungs pierced, you will turn as blue as a smurf in a couple of minutes. It is a classic. Quite dramatic too. Ideal for coffee breaks or team meetings. I do not usually do it in elevators: the audience is too small to appreciate my hugging skills. Hahaha!

She releases him from her iron grip and allows him to collapse on the floor. His body is horribly misshapen and shakes all over. His face is drawn in panic. He gasps for air, like a fish out of the water. He is doomed. And me too: I use all my willpower to fight an erection. Even this excessively brutal violence does not prevent me from getting a hard-on while watching Rachel's latex-clad dreambody in action. Her oiled-up bodybuilding physique contained within that ultra-kinky dominatrix suit is just too much for me. I hope she does not notice my erection.

- Well, M. Rosenberg. What about your promise? You confided me earlier that you are a man who keeps his promises. To stay faithful to Aletta. Not to get hard. Don't tell me you're hard.

She is so arousing, so beautiful. I just cannot help it. I should have known she would notice. These women notice everything. My fate is sealed. I feel myself blushing and do not dare to face her, which is close to impossible in this confined space.

- You are. You fucking are! So much for keeping your promises, you horny motherfucker! I don't know what Aletta sees in you, but she must really like you. Otherwise your cock would be caged and we would not be talking erections here. Or perhaps this is planned and she anticipated this all along: to check if you would be able to stand your ground among the big girls. You have been acting brave in the face of this suffocating asshole there on the floor, but I hate it when men come up with these stupid stories. With these promises they do not keep.

Acting brave? I am totally shocked inside. I cannot even begin to think how traumatized I am, but I try to keep up appearances. Something that I have always manage to do quite well, even now. The last thing I want to do, is getting this sadistic killing machine angry, but she is so moody. So easily sparked. So aggressive. And so gorgeous...

- I'm sorry, Rachel. Please. Don't hurt me. I simply adore you. You must be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen: the way you look, the way you dress, the way you act. Everything about you breathes power. ... It oozes sex. I am so deeply attracted to you...It is impossible for me not to get hard around you. Even in the face of brutal punishment I get a hard-on from you. How I want to obey you, Rachel, but I am only just a man.

Who happens to love muscular and dominant women. I do not say this out loud. She knows. Oh my God, it is so obvious she knows she ticks all boxes when it comes to my deepest sexual desires and fantasies. I think she positively responds to my flattery, but the look in her eyes reveals an ice-cold malice, a disdain for my inferiority, and probably for my inability to comply with her orders. She looks so strict. And so beautiful too with those broad shoulders, that tiny waist, and those impossibly muscular legs flaring out.

- Hey Natalya, let's pretend we misunderstood Aletta and do M. Rosenberg too. Fuck, I feel like I am going to show him how I deal with pathetic losers. Let's see what you're made of, baby.

I shrivel in mortal fear. Luckily for me, Natalya's executive has finished licking the semen off her massive arm and she throws her sister-in-arms an angry look.

- Easy, Rach. Don't get over-excited. Doing M. Rosenberg is out of the question. Remember, no permanent damage. Aletta was clear about that. Besides, there is a whole boardroom of men waiting for us. And you know how quickly intimidation can develop into extermination, don't you?

Rachel's initial disappointment makes room for a childish joy, her powerful frame visibly relaxing, her eyes burning with sadistic glee as she faces me:

- You're so fucking lucky, M. Rosenberg. Lucky that Aletta protects you. And lucky that we appreciate how Aletta provides us with an unlimited supply of jobs where we can use our talents to make men compliant. Don't you see my body is fucking built to dominate? And exterminate. I'm getting in the zone. What about you, Nat?

--

- I am always in the zone, Rachel. 24/7. Hahaha! There is nothing more satisfying than fucking up a man.

- Maybe fucking up twenty! Or a hundred!

Both girls start laughing. Rachel is so quick, so witty. And so dangerous. I am still shocked by the ease and casualness with which she sent a random innocent man into a sure death. The idea that she would have no issue whatsoever to kill me too, petrifies me and yet she arouses me so much--her commanding presence, her outfit making her look every inch the dominatrix, the man-eater she prouds herself on being appeals to my deepest fantasies. I should be anywhere but here... Natalya turns her attention to the terrified executive again.

- Remove those trousers and spread your legs. Or do you want end up like your colleague, huh?

He looks in total shock at his helplessly squirming colleague on the ground who is slowly suffocating and already turning blue in the face. No, you don't want Rachel to sentence you to death. The executive with his pants down, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear, hesitates and looks in disbelief into Natalya's beautiful eyes gleaming with savagery. He is terrified to do what she orders, but he is even more terrified to disobey her order. Natalya's intimidating presence, coupled with the not so subtle threat, forces him to comply. So, he quickly gets rid of those pants around his ankles and spreads his legs. His body is shaking and trembling all over, an indication that panic has gotten the better of him. The Russian muscle beauty could not care less: she is showing off her outrageously sexy hotbod and curvy assets, with him, me and Rachel as her only audience.

- Good boy. Now, let's see what else you can do for me.

Sensually slow and without any clear reason she adjusts the strap of her all-revealing dress, whether it is to show more or less cleavage, I do not know. What I do know is that her stripper moves increase the temperature in the elevator with a couple of degrees, from scorching to orgasmic hot. Anyway, my hard-on almost explodes. I just cannot help it. My eyes stay fixed on this sadistic statue sculpted from gleaming muscle, on how the dress is stretched taut over her imposing physique, on the perfect roundness of her fabulous tits and on the vascularity and denseness of her peaking arm muscles. The intricate network of snaking veins pulsing beneath the surface of her massive arms testifies of the huge amount of gym work that has gone into honing this hyper-muscular body. She must be pumping weights I cannot even lift once. And her legs are simply beyond description: long, sleek, and shapely pillars of power, their muscular development and differentiation simply mind-boggling, their sinewy contours making them so erotically charged... She leans in closer, her breath warm against his ear. Her thigh brushes against his, the muscles flexing subtly through the slit of her dress. She reaches up, tracing a perfectly manicured nail along the side of his face.

- Such a fragile little man.

Her tone is mocking yet oddly affectionate.

- Do you think you could survive even one punch from these arms? Hmmm?

She raises her arm and flexes, her bicep erupts in size. Its size is almost obscene.

- No. You would crumble, wouldn't you?

The man stammers something, his face beet red, but Natalya cuts him off.

- Crumbled? You'd be pulverized.

Her voice is dripping with amusement. She reaches down and grabs his balls, her grip firm and unrelenting. I see his whole body twitch at her touch. He swallows hard, sweat beading on his forehead, panic all over him.

- You wouldn't stand a chance, would you? Say it.

- I—I wouldn't stand a chance...

He mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper.

Natalya leans in close, her lips just a breath away from his ear.

- Louder.

It is a command. He complies immediately.

- I wouldn't stand a chance!

His voice cracks under the weight of her dominance.

- Good boy.

Natalya bursts into a low, sadistic laugh, her glossy, red nails that were clawing around his testicles just moments before are now tapping against his cheek again, touching his lips, tenderly opening up his mouth. She stands so close that her double-D breasts hover just inches from his face, almost brushing it, their sheer size and firmness exaggerated by the dress's plunging neckline. She flexes her pecs slightly, making him flinch again.

- Tell me. Does your little wife even come close to this level of perfection?

The man opens his mouth to respond, but Rachel quickly raises her other hand to silence him.

- Say how her soft, saggy body pales in comparison to my chiseled, muscular curves. These babes are bigger than her thighs... Ha! These arms could snap your neck like a twig. And your scrawny little wife probably struggles to lift a shopping bag, doesn't she? Her arms are probably like limp noodles. And you—what's your excuse? Your biceps couldn't lift a feather compared to mine.

The man nods weakly, his voice cracking.

- Y-you're... amazing... I've never seen a body like yours... My wife... she's nothing compared to you... Your legs... they're... massive, muscular. Her legs are nothing... thin, weak.

Natalyal steps back slightly and extends one leg out to the side in a perfect standing split, holding her Louboutin pumps high above her head. The movement is as graceful as it is intimidating.

- You see this? This kind of flexibility combined with this much muscle? Unmatched.

She brings her leg down again, deliberately slow, the slit in her dress sliding open further to reveal her monstrous quads. She flexes, the thick cords of muscle rippling under her oiled skin.

- These legs crush a pelvis in a single squeeze. I guess your wife's legs come nowhere near these pillars of power, hmm? Pathetic sticks. They'd snap just from the sight of me.

He whimpers, but she isn't finished.

- And my chest?

Natalya arches her back slightly to emphasize her massive, perfectly rounded breasts straining against the confines of her dress.

- What does she have, hmm? Pancakes? Sagging sacks of flesh that probably look like they belong to a grandmother?

The man hesitates, but the gleam in Natalya's eyes tell him he has no choice.

- Y-yours are... magnificent. Hers are nothing. You're...

His voice trails off, he is struggling for words.

Natalya lets out a low, sinister chuckle.

- Magnificent doesn't even begin to cover it. Your cock is getting hard again. Like what you see, hmm?

The man slumps against the wall, his legs barely able to hold him up, his mind must be racing with a mix of terror and awe. He nods emphatically. Indeed, I see his erection, his huge member twitching in excitement, throbbing with arousal.

- I am quite used to these reactions. Men just get turned on by these curves and can you blame them? Men even get hard in front of their girlfriends whenever I show up. I do not even have to be dressed in some all-revealing kinky outfit, but usually I am. I simply love to show off the works. Men simply go crazy. Some cannot help wetting their pants--just like you did. You should see their girlfriends' reactions when men only focus on me, get a hard-on and cum in their pants. Hahaha! Want me to play with your cock?

He nods again. With a telling chuckle Natalya grabs his shoulders and pins him against the elevator wall. The executive's face reveals a glimmer of hope.

- I hope you like it rough.

I see him nod. Natalya looks amused by his reaction.

- You do? My God, Rachel, some men never learn. I am a fucking FSB and Pentagon trained assassin. Look at this body. You don't have to be a smart-ass executive to realize what this muscle-packed physique is capable of. The only reason I am not spending the rest of my days in a maximum security prison is because I get after any fucking asshole who tries to investigate what I do for a living. I show them what I am notorious for in the business, why most of my targets rather commit suicide than wait until I show up in full battle gear.

- Hahaha, battle gear? You mean those kinky outfits that show-off every curve of your elite-bodybuilding physique? Fuck, Natalya, your wardrobe is simply porn-proof: all those custom-made tight-fitting latex and leather corsets, crop tops, and bikinis, those tiny thongs, those high-heeled platform boots and pumps with steel-reinforced heels and tips? Men get hard in the groin and weak in the knees if they only see you...

Natalya smiles. She is indeed something.

- Mmm, I am such a cocktease, I know. But the thing that makes men really pissing their pants, is that I am specialized in torture. Some male colleagues call me the Amazon of Agony, the Mistress of Pain, the Domme of Doom and I cannot blame them. I am known for prolonging my killings, for inducing maximum suffering without immediate death, for seducing and paralyzing my victims with fear before I eliminate them. Pain is my art. Humiliation is my canvas. A horrific death is my masterpiece. I am notorious for my ultra-sadism, for taking pleasure in inflicting slow, deliberate pain, savoring every scream and plea, displaying and establishing my dominance as I take my victims through hell and back. The guys who gave me those nicknames? I had them tracked down and I thanked them by showcasing some of my infamous techniques on their frail bodies. My punishments are so excessively brutal and so outrageously sadistic that they become lasting nightmares for anyone even watching the tiniest snippet. I pride myself on breaking men's spirits before I break the rest of them. Makes me the ultimate interrogator. Hehe.

Natalya lets the words sink in. He cannot have any idea what she really means. I do. Perhaps these words are meant for me. I have a clue what she refers to. The scene in the car has been haunting me ever since.

- I make sure the footage reaches everyone who may get any fancy ideas. Hehe. Killed hundreds of police officers that way. Punished them. Executed them. To set examples, to show what happens to those who dare to interfere with my business. And to their families. And to their friends. And to their colleagues. I don't like loose ends and I like to kill a lot of losers. Well, some populate my dungeons for a while, but I don't usually keep prisoners. They don't last long in there anyway. My per diem kill count averages over two hundred. No wonder nobody even considers getting after me... I make bravado melt into fear. Duty into pain. Justice into death. Now, let's see if you can appreciate my idea of survival of the fittest.

And Natalya knees the executive into the groin, raising her muscular leg with lightning speed, engaging her entire body in the strike, beautifully contracting her chiseled abs and obliques, then forcefully twisting and extending her hips with fluid precision and finally ramming her thigh with devastating force into his unprotected crotch. Every move is so elegant, so graceful, so erotically charged that you would swear she works as a feature dancer or high-end stripper. The elegance of the moves hides their raw power and brutal efficacy. The impact propels his body upwards, but her hands on his shoulders keep him steady and make sure that the full force of the impact is primarily absorbed by his genitals. A sickening crack echoes in the confined space followed by a horrifying scream that is abrubtly cut short by pushing his face in between her ample breasts, slamming the back of his head hard agains the elevator's wall.

- You like it rough, huh? Me too.

I see him collapse, gasping for air, his body trying to absorb the horrific impact of her massive thigh, but there is no way a human body can take such an onslaught. The sickening sound of bones snapping tells me his pelvis is likely shattered... It is terrifying to see how her thigh has completely deformed his lower body and transformed him into a ball-less cripple.

- See? It is one of the many perks of having such muscles: men are totally at my mercy. I can break them, crush them or rip them apart whenever I want and there is nothing they can do to stop me. I just now broke your pelvis, destroyed your spine and squashed your balls. The pain is massive, but I hit you in such a way you won't pass out or go unconscious. You would miss all the fun! Hahaha! And there is practically no blood spilled. Takes exceptional talent, years of practice and of course thighs like these...

And she snap-flexes her tear-drop quads to show off their amazing thickness and impeccable definition, each striation clearly visible. Her legs are indeed fantasy material: they are that rare combination of being endlessly long and at the same time visibly bulging with out-of-this-world muscular development, each movement causing the sea of sinewy vascular muscles to ripple with unabashed power. With untamed force and obviously enjoying herself Natalya rams her thigh into his groin a second time. This time he barely flinches at the blow. His legs dangle lifelessly, contorted in a grotesque manner, evidence of the devastating injury to his midsection. Her voluptuous tits continue to press against his face, pinning his head to the cold wall and preventing him from falling to the ground. I watch, mesmerized, as the oil on her skin shimmers under the soft lighting, catching the light on each sculpted muscle. Again, I am enthralled by her muscular beauty, more so than being repulsed by her brutal actions.The red silk cocktail dress looks so super-sexy on her amazonian physique. I have never seen a woman so powerful, so dominant, so gorgeous, so deadly.

- Consider yourself lucky I don't want to spill any blood on our outfits.

Natalya looks like a glistening statue of oil and muscle, looming over us. Her playful facade has vanished and is replaced by a cold, predatory glint in her eyes. I am happy I am not the object of her wrath. Instincitvely I shrink into a corner of the small elevator, shocked by the sheer brutality of her actions. There is a strangled silence. To my own amazement I am still hard. Rock-hard. Then she releases his head from its enticing prison between her breasts and keeps it firmly trapped between her hands, squeezing his skull between the palms of her hands. I am shocked when I see his face, a mask of suffering, revealing a mix of fear and pain, deep lines etched all over it, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes hollow, his breathing shallow, his agonizing scream weak.

- I have hundreds of men waiting for me with cocks the size of yours who devote their entire lives to pleasing me. If they fail me, they die.

- And even if they don't, they die. Hahaha!

It is Rachel who plays the smartass again. Both women roar with laughter. A loud wet crush echos in the elevator and all screaming suddenly stops: Natalya has just crushed his skull between the palms of her hands, his head horrifically deformed and drops him on his dying colleague. Suddenly, they are all business again. Natalya hisses:

- Worthless pieces of shit doesn't appreciate the lesson. I hope you do, M. Rosenberg. When the elevator opens Rachel and I will be escorted by the security team to the room next to the boardroom. We will leave you a couple of minutes alone with the board members before we make our entrance. We will first dispose of all other security personnel. OK? And get rid of that hard-on, will ya?

I feel myself nod. I am obviously totally in shock, looking at the results of their casual ultra-violence writhing in agony on the elevator floor. The way these muscle babes transform from a playful flirt into horrifying warriors in the blink of an eye, sends shivers down my spine. But alongside the fear, a perverse fascination starts to bloom. I realize I am working together with these drop-dead gorgeous bodybuilders whose actions are so sexually charged and so dominant, that they meet my darkest desires. The thrill of their power and control turns me on so much; I am a slave to my desires. And to theirs. Something in me snaps. I start to open my pants, desparately wanting to jerk off to them. And I do not care any more about the consequences. I could have been dead by now if Rachel had her way with me.

- Seems you've forgotten your place again, haven't you, Henry?

Natalya's voice is a silken threat, devoid of its earlier business-like tone and full of her twisted sadistic amusement again. I try to act brave.

- You asked me to get rid of my erection. There is no other way with you two around...

Natalya glances at me, her eyes flickering with contempt, a telling smirk playing on her lips. The sheer absurdity of the situation overwhelms me. Here I am, in an elevator, on my way to a board meeting with two female bodybuilders, who happen to be ultra-sadistic assassins, opening my pants, wanting to jerk myself off to them. Excited and terrified at the same time. Natalya whispers, her voice low and menacing:

- You think you can just do whatever you want, whenever you want, huh?

And then Rachel, who looks terribly annoyed:

- We decide whether you touch your cock or not. Or whether you can be hard. Or whether you cum.

Before I can react, Rachel lunges forward, her experienced hand--not gloved any more--clamping down on my wrist. A sharp pain shoots through my arm as she twists it, forcing me to my knees. My heart pounds in my chest as she pulls me closer while I struggle to break free. I can feel the heat of her breath on my face. I am helpless, a trembling mess, a mere toy in her long-nailed hands.

- Now, let's see if you can still enjoy yourself.

As she speaks, I cannot help but feel a strange sense of arousal. The pain, the humiliation, the sheer power she wields over me: it is intoxicating. With a swift motion, Rachel reaches down and pulls me to my feet again. She releases my arm and snakes down to my crotch and begins to unbutton my pants, exposing my cock to the full force of their scrutiny.

- Look, Nat. Such a sensitive little thing. It's hardly there.

It is in a mocking tone, her voice dripping with sarcasm. I feel so humiliated, causing my cock to harden even more.

- What you lack in size is certainly compensated by your enthusiasm. Jeez, you're really into muscular dommes, aren't you?

I nod and a shiver of anticipation runs through me as both her hands go down, one squeezing my erection with a firm grip, the other gently grabbing my balls. This is so much beyond any fantasy, having a woman who is so gorgeous and physically superior to me in every aspect dominating me sexually is just so exciting. This is too good to be true, and indeed,as she starts squeezing my testicles, I gasp in pain and shock. With a sudden jerk, she pulls me even closer, forcing me to stand on the tips of my toes before her. I am so aroused that I am near orgasm.

- Now, let's finish this and see what you can really do for us. I can feel your cock throb in my hand.  Now, concentrate on not cumming, or I'll pop a ball if you do. Got that, stupid horny fuck?

I pray to God for divine intervention. I concentrate on everything but this sultry brunette before me. I concentrate on the dim light in the elevator that starts flickering just now, like an omen. I concentrate on the sharp shadows this flickering casts across Rachel's towering, ultra-muscular frame. It highlights every muscle and curve on that perfectly hour-glass figure. I concentrate on the inhuman brutality she is capable of. The killing. The torturing. But it is no use: she embodies my fantasy woman. As she stands there, dwarfing me, holding my penis, her polished latex outfit gleaming like liquid midnight, in total control. I start to tremble violently, my eyes darting between her rippling pecs and the wicked smirk on her crimson lips.

- Please, I... I didn't mean to disobey you, but this is too much. I swear, just give me a chance!

My breathing comes in shallow gasps, my panic is palpable. Rachel tilts her head, her slick bun emphasizing her sharp cheekbones and piercing gaze. She moves one of her hands across my face and trails her long nails along my jawline, her massive bicep flexing subtly beneath her shiny skin. Her other hand is still holding my cock, and she is well-aware how it drives me nuts.

- A chance?

Her voice is again dripping with mockery. I see how Rachel's corset hugs her ultra-muscular torso, her shoulders broad and gleaming, every curve of her ample chest accentuated by the snug fit.

- Do you think you're in a position to negotiate with me? Huh? Do you?

I feel my chest heaving as I try to stammer.

- I am so sorry. I'm begging you! Please, have mercy, Rachel.

Rachel bursts into a low, sadistic laugh, and I feel the glossy, red nail of her index finger under my chin. She hisses:

- Mercy? You fucking think I got this far by ever showing any mercy? Look at you.

Her lips curl into a sneer.

- You're shaking like a leaf. You're shitting your fucking pants. That's what I am after. Pure fear. Utter terror. That's what got me this far. That's why I am at the top of the food chain. That's why guys like you get eaten by me. Hehe.

She straightens herself, her gorgeous big boobs stretching the glossy jet-black corset to its maximum, her pierced nipples almost piercing through the outfit. My hands grab her arm for support and the level of muscularity and differentiation my fingers encounter is mindboggling. I feel the veins running along it like a roadmap to my doom.

- Yeah, do you feel that?

She asks me tauntingly, flexing her arm just enough to make the veins pop some more beneath her oiled skin. This is all so deliberate.

- This is what real power feels like. I could crush you without breaking a sweat. Rip you apart. Tear off your limbs. Castrate you. Whatever. Every inch of me is built for one thing—destruction.

Rachel smirks and continues.

- It's not about what I want. It's about what you have to offer. And right now, that's entertainment. So, beg for an orgasm. Show me how desperate you really are.

Suddenly my world explodes as I feel her hand squeezing my balls again, but this time she squeezes so hard, I start to sweat from the pain. I choke on a sob, my words tumbling out in incoherent pleas.

- Please, Rachel! I'll do anything! Just don't—

Rachel interrupts me with a mocking laugh, her broad shoulders shaking. She leans in close, her breath warm against my ear.

- Here's the thing, little darling—you're hard enough, but I don't think you're begging hard enough.

Suddenly I feel a sharp pain jolting through my entire body as she tortures my testicles further, grinding them, making me flinch violently as I try to absorb the pain. She hurts me so much.

- Go ahead, scream for me.

And I do. I squeal and scream in agony. The pain is so excruciating that I break down, my voice raw and ragged as I sob uncontrollably and beg her to stop, every ounce of pride stripped away. Just as I think I am going to go mad and faint from the onslaught, Rachel suddenly releases her vice-like grip on my balls and looks me straight in the eyes, a grin playing around her lips.

- Poor thing. You've been through so much, haven't you?

My heart leaps at her words and relief washes over me. For the first time in hours I feel a glimmer of hope. And when she moves her index and middle finger deceptively gently up and down my half-erect shaft, she has me close to orgasm again. Within seconds. I am unable to contain my excitement when she starts jerking me off properly holding my penis in her strong grip, pumping it a couple of times. Rachel's body shimmers under the flickering fluorescent lights, the oil on her skin accentuating the rippling curves of her impossibly muscular physique.

- Thank you! O God, thank you, Rachel.

- Good boy. Now, what is it that you want? You would like me to jerk you off, huh?

I manage to nod. And just as I am about to lose all control, Rachel releases my cock and sets a few step back, leaving me gasp in arousal. I am simply hooked on her look. Rachel grins lasviviously, licking her lips. Every step in her high-heeled boots is a deliberate display of power, her towering form wrapped in that sleek, black latex outfit. She showcases her impossible arms and grants me the privilege of an incredible double biceps pose, the light gleaming off her flawless, muscular physique. Her smirk deepens.

- Well, what's it going to be? Ask me. Beg me.

I am trapped, a prisoner of my own desires. My cock is standing at her command. The humiliation both terrifies and strangely excites me.  I do not dare to look at her face as I ask the question.

- Would you please jerk me off, my Goddess?

Her beautiful eyes glint with mischief.

- No. That's a privilege few men get to experience, M. Rosenberg.

The two women exchange a knowing glance and start laughing before Rachel steps back some more, her commanding presence filling the tiny elevator. I slump backwards, visibly shaken. These female bodybuilders play in a league of their own. And Natalya adds, her voice devoid of warmth:

- Guys with dicklets like yours are not worthy of our touch. They only deserve pain. They should crawl in total submission to our superiority.

- I guess the last guy who asked me for a handjob was that third dude at the club yesterday who kept buying us that expensive champagne. Remember him, Nat?

- Vaguely. I did more than thirty dudes that evening. I lost count of your conquests--as usual too many to remember.

- Hehe. You know how popular we are at a club. It was that shy guy who stayed with us the whole night and paid everything in advance. Must have cost him a fortune.

- Oh, that one.

- He had an erection the whole evening. Keeping him hard was so easy. He must have loved our curves in those shiny vinyl catsuits! Hahaha! And the boots too. We drove him nuts.

- O yeah! He kept staring at my tits. Can't blame him... Had to change suits five or six times. He must have wondered where all the blood came from on my outfits. The sperm he could more easily relate to. Jeez, yeah, now I remember him: it's the one you impaled on your strap-on with that bottle already up his ass? How can I forget? He didn't saw that one coming.

- Indeed! What a loser. I had been 'accidently' brushing, touching and massaging his crotch the wole night with my hands and legs. It took some time before he found the courage to ask me for a handjob. It is not that he didn't see us taking all those other guys to the backrooms. He fucking paid for the use of those rooms too. He must have heard them crying and screaming. He surely thought in sexual ecstacy. Our cleaning crews had plenty of work that night. I didn't even bother to take him to the backroom. I threw him on the couch of our private space in the club, shoved one of those magnum bottles Dom Perignon up his ass. Sohould heve seen him squirm and shake. And then I brutally impaled him on my steel strap-on dildo, breaking that bottle and fucking his virgin ass to shreds. I simply tore him up! He totally lost it. And the broken glass up his ass made him bleed like a fucking pig as I continued to ram my steel phallus up his ass. The music was too loud to hear him scream in agony.

- And then I rebuilt his face with my brass-knuckled fists that I had been using all night on my lovers. He fucking looked like a total freak, didn't he? Like some kind of bloody elephant man.

- Yeah, he looked so ugly! He didn't make it, of course. You'll make it, M. Rosenberg. You can jerk off now--show me how desparately you want me. I want your sperm all over these dying dudes here. CSI may idenify you afterwards. I already see the headlines: 'male pervert gets off killing executives'. Hahaha!

Hearing these bodybuilders boast about their conquests just makes me weak in the knees and horny as hell. Their standing next to me in those kinky outfits has me blowing my load within seconds. I have a huge orgasm. Rachel merely smiles disdainfully.

- Good boy. That was quick. Should prevent you from getting hard again too soon. And don't worry about the sperm. Our cleaning crew will make sure no traces are left. They are so good at their job. Probably because they know what happens if they fail me. Hehe. Now get ready. We reached the 68th floor. Ready, Nat?

Natalya is busy adjusting the neckline of her dress somewhat, so that the alluring shiny flesh of her huge protruding tits is covered some more, but it is no use hiding what cannot be hidden. Natalya's boobs are so oversized, just like the rest of her ridiculously sexy body, and simply meant to be stared at. And she catches me staring and I immediately avert my gaze but it is too late. She noticed.

- Sure I am ready! Some guys will wish they never got out of bed this morning... Hehe. You can oil them up later, M. Rosenberg. How's that, huh?

--

And before I even have an idea to fathom how much I would want to do that, the elevator doors open with a soft chime, and Natalya and Rachel confidently step into the gleaming marble hallway. The overhead lights catch the gleaming sheen of their skin, highlighting every sculpted muscle. Their bodies, tanned to perfection, shimmer like polished bronze statues, the oil enhancing the definition of their outrageous musculature. The combination of their glistening skin and their bold outfits is mesmerizing, a vision so striking it could be mistaken for the stage entrance at an elite bodybuilding competition. Natalya's crimson cocktail dress showcases her marvellous physique, highlighting every erotic line and curve of her insanely sculpted figure. The high slits offer teasing glimpses of her massive, bulging thighs and revealing striations running down her quads, the oil catching the light and making every detail pop. Her obliques ripple subtly as she sways her hips, her dress struggles to contain the generous curves of her chest, each movement causing the rich fabric to cling and highlight her dramatically enhanced silhouette. Rachel follows in her signature latex corset, the shine accentuating every curve and sinew of her impossibly toned body. Her outfit emphasizes the deep cuts of her abs that seem to ripple with each movement. I have full view of her delts and traps which even to male bodybuilding standards are nothing short of spectacular as they bulge beautifully. The high glossy shine of her black boots mirrors the gleam of her oiled, vascular arms. Her movements are deliberate, each step in those impossibly high-heeled knee-high boots showing her elegance, balance and control. And power. Fuck, she looks so powerful! Behind them, I fidget nervously, acutely aware of how insignificant I am beside them.

At the end of the hallway, two security guards are stationed at the boardroom doors. I see them stiffen as we approach, their professional stoicism faltering under the weight of what I can only describe as sensory overload. The taller guard's gaze flicks briefly to Natalya's plunging neckline, where her double-D chest swells with each breath, before darting back up with a visible effort. His younger partner is not as discreet, his eyes are glued to Rachel's full package, his lips parting slightly in awe. They do not know what they are in for. I pity them, but I cannot do anything. Rachel made clear I could be next.

And suddenly--as if signalled--the two beauties begin their tumbling routine, the effect is nothing short of hypnotic. They both initiate a series of tumbling passes that could rival the complexity of an Olympic routine. A soaring roundoff back handspring into a double layout salto has Natalya's body twisting through the air, her powerful thighs and glutes flexing with precise control. The gleam of oil on her skin catches the overhead lights, each muscle in her legs and core rippling with purpose as she executes the move flawlessly. The red dress billows slightly, revealing the full sweep of her quad as it contracts with every movement, while the plunging neckline showcases the elegant bounce of her busty chest, held in defiance of gravity by the taut material. I can see her thong playfully disappearing between her asscrack, her glistening glutes perfectly round and firm, putting to shame any well-trained Brazilian beach babe. Rachel follows seamlessly, her own tumbling sequence a jaw-dropping spectacle even more impressive--if that is even possible--than Natalya's gymnastic exploits. Rachel sprints into a punch front tuck, transitioning immediately into a whipback double full twist. Her black latex corset molds to her torso, highlighting the deep cuts of her obliques and the sharp ridges of her abs as she flips and twists. The high gloss of the material shimmers under the lights, accentuating the raw, functional beauty of her bodybuilding physique. The muscles in her arms and shoulders ripple as she transitions seamlessly into a layout full-twisting salto, her entire body momentarily suspended in mid-air before she lands with effortless grace. Without breaking momentum, she executes an Arabian double front tuck, flipping forward with controlled ferocity before landing in a low, predatory stance.

The two women move in tandem now, seamlessly transitioning into side-by-side aerial cartwheels and synchronized back handsprings. Natalya's towering heels barely seemed to touch the ground as she soares into a straddle jump, her sculpted inner thighs flexing in an elegant split mid-air, the red fabric of her dress stretching impossibly but never betraying her. Rachel's platform boots, equally implausible for such feats, seem weightless as she launches into a back layout with a perfect half twist, her arms slicing through the air with graceful precision. To finish, Natalya launches into a one-handed cartwheel, transitioning into a front aerial that ended with a powerful, controlled landing just inches from the guards. Rachel executes a triple twisting double layout, her black boots clicking sharply on the marble floor as she lands with unnerving grace, light as a cat. A fucking big cat! It seems both women defy gravity itself, their chests heaving slightly, the oil on their skin shimmering under the lights, highlighting the perfect symmetry and definition of their physiques. I am totally in awe. And hard. Again. The beauty of it. The skill. The flexibility. The power. These women blow my mind in every possible way. I can't move. I can barely breathe.

The guards are simply frozen in place, their mouths slightly agape, their eyes darting helplessly between the women's ultra-muscular, oiled forms. They are just as impressed as I am. The absurdity of what we just witnessed—two impossibly strong, obviously professional bodybuilders performing world-class gymnastics in attire that defies logic—leaves them stunned. Their awe quickly turns to fear as the women step closer, the confident sway of their hips and the knowing smirks on their faces making it clear that they know the effect they have.

- Impressive, huh?

It is Natalya who is adjusting the strap of her dress that had slipped slightly during her aerial display, her chest rising and falling with mock innocence.

- We like to make an entrance.

Rachel crosses her arms, flexing her biceps, and adds with a low, dangerous chuckle:

- Do yourselves a favor and don't make us repeat it with a personal demonstration. You won't enjoy the landing as much as you did now.

The guards gulp, their faces pale, unable to respond adequately, mesmerized as they are by the unique combination of beauty, strength, and grace overwhelming every sense. Both are rock-hard, just lilke I am, but I stay behind them, trying to steady myself. Natalya's hand brushes the side of her thigh, leaving a subtle smudge of oil that only draws attention to the flawless definition of her legs.

- This isn't just for show, boys. Every muscle you see here can—and will—be used if you don't step aside.

Rachel joins her sister-in-arms, flexing her own arms, leaning closer to one of the guards, the taller one, but he looks insignificantly small compared to the towering amazon standing before him. Her voice drips with mockery as she runs her long-nailed index finger softly along his jawline before moving it over the guy's crotch, turning up the heat some more.

- Are you sweating, or is it just the heat we're bringing? Don't even think about cumming in your pants or I will crush your balls before you even reach for your radio.

The guards swallow hard, their mouths opening and closing like fish out of water. The smaller one stammers:

- We... we can't let you through.

Natalya chuckles darkly, her fingers flexing as she raises an arm to push her oiled biceps to their full peak. Even to pro -male bodybuilding standards the size and differentiation of her biceps are amazing. The smaller guard looks more like a little boy compared to the huge, muscular amazon in front of him. I do hope he has an idea of the anger he is in.

- Can't, or won't? There's a difference.

Her voice is cold and biting as she cups the smaller guard's balls into the palm of her hand through his trousers. Natalya's full lips curve into a predatory smile.

- It cannot be that hard to make an exception now, can it? Imagine for one moment what a woman like me can do with an erection, hmm? Ever thought about that?

His eyes dart around, looking for some support, I guess, but finding none. His voice shakes as he speaks:

- Only M. Rosenberg is allowed beyond this point. I'll have to ask you both to wait—...

Rachel interrupts with a short, mocking laugh. Her voice is dripping with sarcasm.

- Ask us? Oh, sweetheart, you don't ask women like us to do anything. You beg. You beg and you hope that we are in a generous mood and do not rip off your arms and beat you to death with them. Or shove a gun up your ass and pump you full of lead.

Both guards take a half-step back, their faces pale, their hands twitching nervously by their sides. Their gazes flicker between the two women, clearly caught between awe and terror. Natalya smirks, watching their reaction with amusement. She raises her arms slowly, her biceps swelling like they might burst through her skin, and rolls her shoulders, making the thin straps of her dress strain against her broad frame.

- You're both hard and staring. Do you like what you see? Mine are big, aren't they?

Natalya takes a step closer again, and the guards stumble back, nearly tripping over their own feet. It is curious to see how their authoritative tone has dwindled and how they look like adolescent schoolboys too shy to face the two female predators.

- It's cute how they think they can stop us. Let's show them the error of their ways, shall we?

The smaller guard's cheeks flush, his Adam's apple bobbing as he struggles to respond.

- It's just... protocol, ma'am.

He stammers, his gaze betraying him as it lingers on Rachel's fabulous tits for a moment too long.

Rachel smirks, running her hand along the curve of her waist, her fingers tracing the taut latex with an almost sensual precision, before moving them over her ridiculously sexy breasts lusciously filling the latex, cupping them, showing off their perfect form and size.

- Protocol...

Her tone is smooth and velvety. Flirty.

- Such a fragile thing. So easily... bent. Do you know what happens when you rely too much on fragile things?

Both men awkwardly move backwards, instinctively trying to avoid the danger they are in. The bigger guard's jaw tightens, but his silence speaks volumes. His hand instinctively moves to his belt, towards the holster on his belt, but Rachel is faster. Much faster. Rachel moves like lightning, her hand snapping out to seize his wrist in an iron grip. His breath hitches as her fingers tighten, pressing against the tendons with effortless control.

- They break.

The gleam of oil on her sculpted forearm highlights every sinewy fiber as she slowly, deliberately bends his hand backward. A sharp, involuntary gasp escapes his lips. Holy fuck, she will break his wrist!

- You really thought that was a good idea?

Mocking him, tilting her head as if amused by his poor judgment, her glossy lips curl in a slow, predatory smile. The guard clenches his jaw, but a strained whimper betrays him when Rachel's fingers press harder, harder into the delicate tendons beneath his wrist. A flicker of panic flashes in his eyes. The guard grunts, trying to wrest himself free, but it is laughable—his strength is nothing against hers. Rachel rolls her eyes dramatically. Her grip shifts, her thumb pressing down against the knuckle of his index finger. A sickening pop echoes in the corridor as she bends his index finger the wrong way, this time really breaking it. I can hear the wet crack. He chokes back a cry, his knees buckling. Rachel chuckles, leaning in just close enough for her warm breath to tickle his ear.

- Oops. Did that hurt?

Her tone feigns innocence. It drips with amusement.

- Here, let's even things out.

Before he can react, there is another sharp twist. Another eerie crack. She simply breaks another finger. A muffled cry escapes him as she allows him to fall to his knees, cradling his ruined fingers. Rachel watches with amusement, running her tongue over her teeth as if savoring the moment. Both women roar with laughter.

- We have a protocol too, don't we Natalya? We break bones. And then boners.

- Yeah, and then we break the rest of you.

- Indeed, two down. Eight to go.

Natalya smiles amusedly:

- Jeez, Rach, you're really into breaking fingers today. I hope he doesn't play the piano.

- I am into breaking anything, as long as there is a male attached.

- Hahaha! That's what I love about you: big mouth, witty, no inhibitions. No wonder men shit their pants when I mention your name...

The smaller guard wants to help his colleague, but Natalya moves with lightning speed. The big-titted bodybuilding beauty gracefully bends over, grabs the guard's midsection for support and  executes a flawless scorpion kick, her ultra-muscular leg arching high over her head, the stiletto heel of her kinky high-heeled pump descending so rapidly, striking the guard's eye with clinical precision.  The impact forces him to stagger back, one eye squashed, the other wide in shock. Before he can recover, Natalya transitions seamlessly into a spinning back kick. Her sleek, bulging leg muscles power the motion, delivering a devastating blow to his torso. The guard is sent crashing into the wall, gasping for breath, his face contorted in pain, one of his eyes a bleeding hole.

- We are pro-bodybuilders, Olympic gymnasts, MMA-specialists. We torture for a living and fuck for pleasure.

Natalya reaches out and grasps his chin with one hand, her broad shoulders and defined arm muscles flexing effortlessly. With a display of raw power, she hoists him off the ground, pressing him against the wall. His feet dangle helplessly, and he claws at her wrist, his face pale with fear. He has all the trouble in the world to just breathe. The kick to his ribcage must have broken some of his ribs.

- Please... don't... I... I am just following orders... Don't hurt me... Please.

- Fucking insect! From now on you only follow my orders and I want you to shut up while I show you some love.

Maintaining her hold on him, keeping him high above the ground, Natalya's clenched fist of her free hand hits his kidney area. She strikes him so hard he seems to lose consciousness, his body losing all vitality, dangling loosely in her iron grip. It is the inhumane squeal escaping his mouth that shows he is surely alive and in excruciating pain. I have never heard such an intense harrowing scream, his face is totally distorted, a mask of suffering. Meanwhile, Rachel adresses the guard again who is on his knees in front of her, holding his broken fingers in his other hand, trying to cope with the pain.

- Come here, asshole! Get back up and give me your hand. I haven't finished yet. Or do you want me to immediately do your cock? Our protocol makes the atrocities at nazi-extermination camps look like child's play. Our protocol also involves cock size: huge dudes get the lightest treatment, still hours of pain before death comes as a relief. Small-cocked suckers get the full experience: days filled with hardcore torture.

I see him hesitate for a moment, but he extends his hand towards her, her beautifully long-nailed fingers brushing deceptively gentle over his remaining fingers. He pleadingly looks into her gorgeous eyes, her lips curling into a cold smile. He gasps, eyes wide with fear, the color draining from his face.

- Please, don't...

- Good boy. Compliance. Obedience. Submission. And I may show some mercy. Don't make a sound.

Rachel looks him straight in the eyes, mocking him, as she breaks the remaining three fingers with a nasty jerk. I see him gasp in pain, in shock. He looks in so much pain, but he does not scream. The sheer terror for what she may inflict is so much bigger than his natural urge to scream his lungs out in pain. And he is right: Rachel tortures and slaughters just for the fun of it. She simply loves it. Her actions in the elevator were simply ultra-sadistic and so excessively brutal. But what can you do? How do you stop somebody who has a body engineered, trained, built to kill? The longer I am around these gorgeous babes, the more I realize that being compliant and obediently accepting your fate--even if that means being raped, beaten and tortured--buys you some time. Resistance is futile. Meanwhile, his face is contorted in agony as she wiggles the broken stumps, ripping apart some more tendons, hurting him some more. It is a strange way of showing mercy, unless the sadistic domme had something much worse in mind and just breaking a couple of fingers is her way of being easy on him. I cannot tell. He is on his knees again, looking pleadingly at the muscle babe looming over him. If eyes ever screamed for mercy, it is his eyes now. In silence.

- Mmm, not bad. Now, show me your cock. Let me see what I can do...

Holy fuck! This is getting out of hand. I need to do something. I step forward hastily, forcing myself to clear my throat despite the dry lump forming.

- Please, Rachel. Could you stop it?

Keeping my voice firm, though I know they can sense the hesitation underneath. I am terrified she will hurt me too. Or worse. I try to justify my intervention by referring to the situation.

- We don't have time for this.

Rachel sighs dramatically, as if I've just interrupted her favorite pastime.

- Rosenberg, you're no fun.

She nudges the guard's chin with her knee, almost playfully, making him flinch in utter terror. He cradles his broken fingers in his other hand, clearly in lots of pain.

- See? Even he knows I'm the one in charge here. You're just a screen, M. Rosenberg. A legal cover. The law serves those in power. The powerful dictate the law. Not vice versa.

Rachel has turned to face me and I am doubting whether it was such a good idea to interfere.

- I am happy to see you get my point.

- .... I'm so sorry, Rachel. Forgive me my interruption... It won't happen again.

In response Rachel raises her formidable arms into a double biceps pose, her massive arm muscles responding with impressive definition, swelling into vascular peaks that make my mind boggle.

- No, it won't. I'll make sure your tongue is too busy with other things. If you fail me, these babies will rip you apart. Limb by limb. Slowly. Painfully.

Natalya chuckles.

- Relax, Rach. I'm sure M. Rosenberg will elaborately excuse himself for his terrible conduct.

I nod. How I nod.  I would do whatever they ask me to. Natalya releases her grip on the guard's chin. He immediately drops to the ground, doubling over, clearly in lots of pain. Both guards need some time to recover, but--hardened as they are--they take their stance again, injured but able. Rachel winks.

- We were just getting started. All right, guys. Take us wherever you want us.

The guards' faces are pale and their eyes wide in terror as they escort the two bodybuilding bimbos to another room. I swallow hard and press forward into the board's meeting room, hoping they'll follow the guards without any further incidents, but I know better of course. Behind me, I hear the sultry sound of Natalya's and Rachel's chatter and laughter. It is a sound that sends shivers down my spine, because I know they relish slaughtering these men, savoring their fear, their pain. I hear them talk to the guards: "Relax, boys, we're not here to hurt you. We have something else in store for you. Hehe." The guards lead the women down the hall, their movements tense and uncertain, as if walking alongside two lions who might pounce at any moment. Rachel lets out a soft, amused hum, her boots clicking ominously against the floor. "They're so fucking obedient," she says to Natalya, her voice just loud enough for the guards to hear. "Almost... endearing. Fuck, I'm going to enjoy doing them." And then they disappear.

--

Meanwhile, I am standing outside the boardroom, hesitating for just a moment before pushing the door open. Despite being the one in charge, I feel like an afterthought—a mere accessory to the towering dominance of the two women who remain behind. But here I am nevertheless. The boardroom is immaculate—mahogany table polished to a mirror-like sheen, soft leather chairs occupied by sixteen stern-faced men, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. I am standing at the head of the table, my tailored suit equally immaculate, my demeanor calm but commanding. Yet, I am dying inside, dying with fear, with anxiety. The president asks me to wait for a couple of minutes more and they continue their discussion as if I am not there. These men are so rich and powerful--I recognize some of them. Some are good for over a billion dollars in assets. They are used to being in command, to order. And I have to convince them to give that up... Their discussion lasts for some thirty minutes before he finally gives me the floor.

- Gentlemen.

I begin, my voice steady:

- We've reviewed the situation thoroughly. The most logical step for the continued growth of your company—and to avoid unnecessary complications—is to transfer property rights as outlined in the agreement before you. In this case, we need three-fourths of the board to sign. We need twelve signatures.

I gesture to a stack of documents in front of them. They were sent earlier for their perusal. The board members exchange skeptical glances, their body language stiff with defiance. One of the younger members, a dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes, leans forward.

- M. Rosenberg, with all due respect, these so-called 'agreements' are nothing more than a hostile takeover dressed in legal jargon. We won't sign.

I expected this. Anyone with some knowledge of the jargon would know this is simple robbery. Theft of the most brutal kind: all profits go to us, possible debt are on their account. All corporate assets come into our hands. Simple as that. I press my lips into a thin line, ready for the lines I prepared, but before I can respond, the double doors at the far end of the room swing open. The room seems to inhale as Rachel and Natalya enter. Their physiques are impossible to ignore—ultra-muscular yet undeniably feminine, every inch of their sculpted bodies radiating control and raw power. But what is shocking to see, is that they are coated with blood! Their fists and feet are literally dripping with blood. My God, what did they do?

It is Rachel who moves first, sprinting forward with an effortless, cat-like grace before launching herself into the air. She executes a flawless back handspring onto the polished mahogany table, her powerful arms absorbing the impact as she fluidly transitions into a series of rapid flick-flacks, her sculpted muscles flexing in perfect synchronization with each movement. The chandelier lights gleam against the sheen of her bronzed, oiled skin, emphasizing every defined ridge of her physique as she finally lands in a controlled crouch, her piercing gaze locking onto the men. Before the stunned board members can react, Natalya follows. She places one heeled foot on a chair, then flips onto the table in an aerial twist, her red silk dress billowing around her like liquid fire. The impossible height of her Louboutin platform pumps does nothing to hinder her flawless execution—she lands with feline precision, her quads flexing beneath the deep slits of her dress, her full, muscular frame for all to enjoy. The shimmering oil on her skin catches the golden glow of the room, accentuating the sculpted perfection of her larger-than-life muscular physique. Her graceful gymnastic entry has bared her improbable boobs, the curves of her exceptionally large breasts simply too much to take in! What a pair! They take their time, leaving a dramatic silence as they scan the men with icy amusement. And leaving them the time to take in the formidable sight of their half-naked bodybuilding physiques dripping with blood. I assume it is the blood of all security personnel in the building, but the board members do not of course. And I see Natalya and Rachel each carry a belt with guns, obviously taken from those security guards.

- Hostile takeover? Gentlemen, you have no idea how hostile we can get.

Rachel's voice is low, yet carrying across the room with ease. Her sardonic smile adds an understated cruelty to her words.

- It seems there is ... resistance. We like resistance. Our job is to break it. And we love our job.

The tension in the room is palpable as the board members nervously shift in their seats, their eyes darting between the two gorgeous women smiling deviously. It seems like I have become invisible: all eyes are fixed on the two muscle goddesses, whose massive bodies combine lush pornstar curves, super-model looks with hard, ultra-ripped Mr. Olympia bodybuilding physiques that demand men to take notice. Natalya is busy readjusting her all-revealing cocktail dress, teasingly trying to cover up her insanely big and firm boobs, all shiny and tanned to perfection, obviously wearing no bra. Who needs a bra with this kind of improbable breasts? All eyes are fixed on the alluring flesh of her fake cleavage so shamelessly on display. Everybody can see that her nipples are erect. Her hands cup the glorious globes like a pro stripper, sexily arching her back, throwing her hair back and bringing their supple flesh up to her awaiting lips. She flicks her tongue and traces a circle around each erect nipple, moaning in animalistic ecstacy. The amount of sex appeal is simply amazing: were it not for the blatant development of her bulging muscles, she would look like those generously proportioned pin-up beauties from the magazines. All men are paralyzed by fear and desire, taken in by the sheer amount of visual beauty on display, unsure whether they should run or worship these women.

Rachel straightens herself, her enormous muscular bulk nicely contained within her tightly fitting domme-outfit. I cannot help but observe how ridiculously sexy Rachel is: her shiny flesh is so deeply tanned and her sculpted physique is so obscenely muscular! She may not be as big as Natalya, but she would surely ridicule any male pro bodybuilder on the Olympia stage. Her staggering muscles are clearly in competition shape: hard, pumped-up, and ripped. Well, competition shape is perhaps a misnomer, because what kind of male pro would be able to compete with this kind of physical development? With Rachel the combination of bodybuilding and femininity is so much more than the sum of its parts. Her ultra-fit curves give her the look of a goddess and she clearly loves to show off that goddess-like body revealing an awful lot of cleavage. She may not have the outrageous size of Natalya, but Rachel's chest is perfectly proportional with her heavyweight bodybuilding bulk: big, firm and it has the benefit of being genuine. Slowly, with calculated precision, she extends one leg forward and one backward, lowering herself into a perfect split. Her move is performed agonizingly slow, designed to make us all watch every second as her thick vein-laced quads stretch apart, the glossy leather of her Louboutins gleaming and creaking, wrapped tightly around her colossal calves, emphasizing the contours of her sculpted legs. I can see the board members watching in stunned silence, unable to look away as her massive, vein-riddled thighs stretch apart. The deep muscle separation of her quads becomes even more defined, every individual muscle fiber rippling beneath her deeply tanned, glossy skin. She adjusts her position slightly, elegantly changing into a middle split, making her inhumanly thick glutes tighten, her gargantuan inner thighs pressing down onto the luxurious wood, her Louboutin heels gliding smoothly across its polished surface. The red soles of her boots flash like a devil's signature, sealing her dominance, emphasizing her superiority. Rachel runs a hand lazily over the bulging ridges of her unyielding quadriceps, her fingers sensually tracing the deep, sinewy grooves with an almost casual amusement. She flexes slightly, making the veins throb and pulse along her inhumanly muscular thighs, watching as the men visibly tense, their eyes locked onto the jaw-dropping display of power and flexibility.

She lets out a soft, mocking chuckle as she arches her back and then bends forward, her alluring curves on full display, stretching her arms exploding with definition, pressing her palms on the table, showing off the sharp curve of her oiled glutes, playfully flexing each cheek separately, making the ultra-tiny black leather thong of her outfit sexily dance in her ass-crack, each bulging globe of her ballooning ass bigger than anyone's torso, built to absolute perfection, being both hyper-feminine and hyper-muscular: vintage Rachel. The room is silent—except for the faint noise of the glistening bubble-butt teasingly bouncing on the table. If this visual stimulus does not get you hard, you are gay. I am hard as can be, close to orgasm. I would not be surprised if some men already creamed their pants. Rachel simply embodies perfection to me.

- Imagine my sexy ass all over your face. Mmm? I love to ride a man's face. Confirms that the sole purpose of a man's tongue is licking pussy. Hehe.

Rachel locks eyes with the dark-haired man who spoke earlier. He stiffens but does not look away. The flicker of defiance in his piercing blue eyes is admirable. And foolish. He speaks up.

- Who—who are you?

- You're about to find out. Let's say we are here to facilitate your decision-making process. Stand up.

The command is quiet, yet absolute. There is hesitation before he pushes himself to his feet, his shoulders squared in a futile attempt at maintaining control. But I can see his fear—the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way his jaw tightens as he forces himself to meet Rachel's gaze all indicate he is scared shitless. In total control she pushes herself into handstand, lifting her hulking upper body while keeping her legs extended in the split, holding herself up purely by the power of her titanic arms and shoulders. A soft gasp escapes one of the men as her delts roll forward, their impossible roundness and vascularity casting deep shadows under the room's lighting. She lets them watch as she slowly draws her legs together, her monstrous quads and hamstrings bunching up with every inch, the veins pulsing like thick ropes across the striated surface of her skin. Then, in one breathtaking motion, she pushes herself off the table, her abs tightening into an impossibly deep, carved-out eight-pack as she gracefully flips herself upright—the sheer control and power in her core and legs is terrifying, her quads flexing into shredded slabs of pumped-up muscle as she lands back on the table onto her towering heels with a sharp, authoritative click. I notice her leaving a damp spot on the table where her perfectly shaven crotch used to be. Jeez, this woman is so incredibly hot!

- Now, let's talk about obedience. About submission.

Rachel reaches out to him, her beautifully manicured fingers--still bloody from her previous actions--brush over the lapel of his tailored jacket before gripping it—tight. With an effortless pull, she yanks him onto the table, the movement so sudden he stumbles forward, his head level with her gorgeous boobs, his face brushing the alluringly shiny flesh, his breath hitching. I notice how the muscles in her thick forearm shift, flexing with restrained strength. The insane development in her obscenely thick forearms, her peaking biceps and swollen triceps, every powerful bulge and striation can be mapped in anatomical detail. The deep tan of her oiled flesh reveals her Latina ancestry. She is obviously showing off, making sure the message comes across. Her erect nipples push menacingly out onto the shiny fabric of her corset with each breath she inhales. Rachel's gorgeous face, model-like and almost gentle in its beauty, contrasts starkly with her hulk of a body, feminine yet rippling with power. She visibly loves this. The board member is less obviously enjoying his close encounter with this curvaceous domme.

- Who the fuck do you think you are, you fucking midget?

The man hesitates, glancing around the room for support, but finding none. His posture looks tense, but his fighting spirit has not left him:

- This is coercion. I won't be a part of it. We have a responsibility to uphold our principles.

He looks around the room, again seeking support from his colleagues. The other board members continue to avoid his gaze, their faces have changed into masks of fear trying to make sense of the gorgeous female bodybuilders strutting on the table. 

- Don't be so stupid. Your colleagues are the smart ones here: they understand the principle of the survival of the fittest. And who would that be, you think, huh?

Rachel starts to strip him down. I clearly understand why forcibly stripping men naked is such a key component in making them submissive: standing naked and weak next to a half-naked ultra-fit amazon in peak condition visibly establishes who is in power in so many ways! It makes men crazy with fear and embarrassment. With a couple of powerful jerks she simply rips off his clothes, effortlessly tearing apart his expensive costume, brutally stripping him of his underwear, leaving him naked with his socks and shoes on, a strangely funny and highly unnerving sight. She looks pleased to see that parts of his underwear are already wet. The man shrivels with shame, his flabby white body no match for the curvaceous ultra-athletic female beauty next to him. He covers his crotch with both hands. I am sure he did not expect this to happen when he got out of bed this morning...

- Look at you. Fucking look at you. And then look at me. Do you think there is any reason to ignore my commands? Any reason why you would not crawl in total submission? Any reason why you would not lick my boots in admiration? And move those hands away from your crotch.

He unwillingly removes his hands, exposing his crotch. His cock is embarrassingly hard. An ever-so-subtle arch of her eyebrow shows that Rachel is not amused.

- Who told you to get hard? Jeez, that part of your body is as inferior as the rest of it. Is that all you've got? Most flaccid cocks are bigger than your erection.

She grabs him by his cock, squeezing it and giving it a very hard tug. His cock is seeping. He is so turned on, but you can see that Rachel is not interested in his pleasure. Her jerks are unnecessarily savage and cruel, making him gasp in pain. He shrivels in terror and shame standing exposed like this in front of his colleagues.

- See this, gentlemen? This is what inferiority looks like.

And she stops jerking him off, exposing his raging hard-on to her captivated audience. The board members do not know how to react to this outrageous act of sexual humiliation. A small grin wickedly plays around Rachel's mouth when she notices how his erection continues to throb in arousal, ready to cum.

- Your fucking cock is not only ridiculously small, but you have no stamina either. You're lucky I know how to deal with subs like you.

He visibly shivers as Rachel moves her left hand under his balls, kneading them hard, probably to the brink of bursting them, while with her right hand she strokes his cock, gently at first, but quickly her stroking becomes so hard and fast that blood starts dribbling from between her carefully manicured fingers! He yells in pain as his trembling hands try to push away her monstrously big and vascular arms in an attempt to stop the vicious onslaught, but it is no use. He might as well have tried to move a concrete wall. The gorgeous bodybuilder mocks his futile attempts, humiliating him further, showing everyone who is in charge.

- What are you trying to do, baby-dick? Is your ultimate fantasy woman hurting you, hmm? I feel like popping a ball? What about you?

He goes berserk, frantically shaking his head, pleadingly looking into her cold eyes, incoherently begging her to show some mercy. He is obviously panicking. I realize that her black leather outfit makes her look so formidable, that thick naked back, its amazing muscular differentiation bulging and flexing with the slightest movement, spreading out almost like the wings of an eagle. Then suddenly, she slowly bends forward, arching her back and lifting her abundant, hard buttocks into view of the light placing a single finger on a pouting lower lip, while holding his crotch in her other hand. She clenches her glutes, flexing the thick globes into potent circles of meat. With a soft grunt and a coo revealing more perfectly tanned bared skin, she also clenches her fingers around his crotch, making him squeal in agony. His scream is so high-pitched that she must squashed his testicles. My God, she did!

- On your knees!

Rachel savagely pushes him down on his knees, exposing his naked white ass. He makes such a sorry sight...

- And this is how I handle inferiority.

She grabs one of the guns from the belt she wears, brutally shoves the barrel into his asshole and looks into the faces of everyone present. Everyone is in shock, mouths are wide open, there is deadly silence, except for the whimpering cries of pain and pleas for mercy of the man who has had his balls crushed and a gun barrel shoved up his ass. Rachel loves the drama to this, the effect of her waiting a couple of seconds before she eventually fires the 0.45 kaliber gun two times, simply blowing away what is left of the guy's crotch, totally destroying his abdomen. Blood splatters on the table and in the faces of the men sitting close to the action. Rachel watches him with detached amusement as he squeals like a pig, writhing in agony, a predator savoring its prey's final moments. The pitch and volume of his screaming only increases. His hands move in the direction of his ass and crotch, vainly trying to mend what has already been irrevokably destroyed.

- Mmm. Anyone else want to test their luck? As you can imagine, I am not a one-man woman.

Her voice is like a dangerous caress. The only sounds now are the ragged gasps of the broken man on the table, begging for his life, crying in misery, wailing in pain. Before he can do anything, she stomps down hard. The razor-sharp seven-inch heel drives deep into his skull, destroying everything in its path. She grinds down with her big black boot, her massive bulk simply squashing his skull, creating a huge mess of red and brown goo amongst the bits of skull bone. When she withdraws the heel, a mix of blood and brain matter drip down from it. The members of the board of directors stare at the gory scene in shock and horror.  Suddenly everything is silent. I am in shock too.

- That's what I thought.

With a dazzling smile on her elegant, high-cheekboned face, she replaces the gun in the holster and with a childish enthusiasm she turns to the board members again.

- OK, let's sign the contracts now. You hand them round, M. Rosenberg. I'm sure they will sign.

I startle when I hear my name and immediately comply with Rachel's order. From the corner of my vision I see she flips herself into a flawless handstand, her arms bulging with superhuman strength as she balances effortlessly, her long, powerful legs extending into a perfect V-split. The men watches in stunned horror, unable to process how a woman this enormous, this muscular, could move with such incredible grace. Then suddenly, she pushes herself upward and drops. Her massive thighs scissor around the head of the elderly greying businessman sitting in front of her, locking him in a crushing hold as they crash onto the floor, the impact of her weight simply breaking the chair as they topple. His eyes bulge, his hands slapping against her iron quads, trying in vain to pry them apart. Rachel sighs as she teases, slowly squeezing, making her hulking thighs pulse around his skull.

- Oh, come on. You really think you can escape these?

Natalya smirks, watching the display of brute strength and domination.

- That's cute. He thinks he has a chance.

The man lets out a muffled, choked scream, his spine arching in agony. Rachel licks her lips, tightening her Amazonian legs until his face turns purple. And then she sexily whispers, tilting her head.

- Don't pass out or you will miss all the fun and I want you to feel everything.

Then, just before he passes out, she releases him, letting him slump to the floor, coughing and gasping for air. He barely has time to recover before Rachel savagely grabs a fistful hair, yanking him upright with ease.

- Oh, poor thing. You can't even stand anymore, can you?

Her voice is dripping with merciless delight. Then, she cocks her fist back—her enormous, veiny forearm bulging grotesquely—and slams it into his gut. His body convulses violently, his ribs shattering like glass.

Rachel moans playfully.

- Mmm, that feels so good. Is it good for you too?

The man can only wheeze, barely conscious, his face contorting in agony. She holds him closer, whispering against his ear, her hot breath sending a shiver through his broken form.

- You know what happens next, don't you?

She pulls back her fist again and slams it into his gut again, even harder this time. The impact sends his torso backwards but she keeps him tight, holding him into the air by his hair. His body jerks from the impact, his mouth falling open in a loud scream, his entire frame wracked with pain. He starts coughing up blood and other stuff. There is incoherent babbling. I think I hear him beg for mercy between the horrifying screams of pain, but Rachel only continues to punch his abdomen and kidney area. It is with sickening thuds that her blows deliberately land just below the ribcage, knowing well that this part of his body is especially vulnerable to damage and pain.

- You thought you were powerful. At the top, making decisions, ruining lives. But look at you now.

He is more dead than alive now. And with a final blow she finishes him. It is a devastating punch, her hulking bicep exploding with power, that sends her clenched fist straight through his gut. Literally through it: her iron fist becomes visible through his back! Guts spill onto the floor. Blood is splattering everywhere. His body is destroyed. Rachel pulls back that monstrous arm and unceremoniously drops him on the ground and straightens herself, rolling her shoulders, her monstrous traps flexing with satisfaction. He doesn't move any more. Doesn't breathe. Meanwhile Natalya has elegantly jumped off the table and steps beside her sister in arms, nodding approvingly.

- Nice. I almost thought you'd go easy on him.

Rachel smirks, glancing down at her unscathed, lethal fists, dripping with blood.

- I don't do easy. I never do.

The fourteen remaining men tremble in abject fear and now realize that resistance is hopeless. I quickly give everyone a contract and a pen to sign, while the two women stand in the middle of the room, completely at ease, their monstrous physiques, tanned and glistening, the epitome of raw power and deadly grace, each muscle fiber rippling with destructive potential. They all sign.

- Do we have the quorum, M. Rosenberg?

I nod. I take all the signed documents.

- Take the chairman out of his seat, close the door and wait there.

All members of the board nervously shift in their chairs again. I do as she orders. Still in shock. Shaken and shaking.

- Well, gentlemen, seems like you all have become superfluous. Your signature was all we needed.

The men cannot believe what they hear. One jumps from his seat and in a foolish impulse of bravery, faces the woman towering over him and shouts:

- But you don't have to do this--we signed!

The sexy bodybuilder smirks.

- Indeed, we don't have to do this. It's just for fun.

Natalya moves her long-nailed index finger under the chairman's chin and orders him:

- On your knees, baby. Lick. And I might not hurt you that much.

She sexily pulls away her thong from her pristinely shaven pussy, forces the man down, and points where to start. He goes to work immediately.

- Focus on the labia. Don't touch my clit just yet. ... Mmm. ... Yeah, that's it. ... ... Good boy.

Meanwhile, Rachel lifts one boot-clad leg with slow, deliberate control, her razor-sharp Louboutin heel hovering inches from her own face in an obscene display of flexibility. She holds the pose effortlessly, letting the men drink in the sheer impossibility of her sexy physique before she explodes into motion. Rachel lashes out, her leg whipping downward in a savage axe kick. The red sole of her Louboutin smashes into the brave man's skull, sending him crashing through a chair. The sheer force of her monstrous quadriceps propels his limp body backward, his deformed head bouncing hard against the mahoney table before he collapses, twitching. His skull is crushed, squashed like an overripe grape. Broken bone and brain matter ooze out of him, coating the floor. Without even glancing at him, Rachel launches herself into the air, her inhumanly muscled frame twisting mid-flight. With a perfectly executed aerial cartwheel, she lands behind two fleeing men, trapping them before they can escape. One spins around, desperate, but Rachel is already in position—she leaps, spreading her legs into a flawless straddle split in midair, and slams both Louboutin heels into their chests at once. The force sends them soaring backward, their bodies crumpling against the walls like discarded dolls. I see them desparately struggling for air, laboring hard just to breathe, like fish out of the water. They cough up blood, making awkward gurgling sounds. Rachel's kick must have destroyed their ribcage with ribs shattered and piercing their lungs. What a horrible way to go...

Rachel lands lightly on one foot, her muscles flexing with impossible control, and immediately springs forward—a blur of sheer, unstoppable power. I am petrified by how quickly this gorgeous bimbo changes from a teasing flirt into a brutally efficient killing machine, combining Olympic-level gymnastic moves with advanced martial arts skills and a body that bodybuilding transformed into a temple of power. The amount of muscles and curves is breath-taking--literally for the men slowly dying on the floor. Meanwhile, Rachel somersaults onto the mahogany table, her knee-high boots sliding effortlessly across its polished surface, and launches herself into a twisting backflip off the table again, her long legs lashing out like lethal weapons. Her deadly heels connect with two more men's jaws in mid-air. The impact snaps their heads back violently, sending teeth flying as their bodies collapse onto the floor in a heap. Before their bodies even settle, Rachel descends upon the next victim. She catches his wrist mid-swing, twisting it with bone-shattering force before driving her knee into his gut. The impact is devastating—his ribs shatter on contact, his body folding like a broken accordion before she flings him effortlessly over her shoulder, sending him crashing against the conference room wall. She pulls the gun and casually blows his head off. Just like that.

- Mmm, guns are a girl's best friend.

The remaining men scramble, sheer panic in their eyes, but Rachel only smiles, savoring their terror. Enjoying her power. Her movements are so beautiful, so elegant, so controlled, and yet so deadly and cruel. With lightning speed, she executes a flawless aerial front flip, her hulking glutes and hamstrings flexing with supreme control as she soars toward her next target. Mid-air, she twists and delivers a brutal downward kick, her stiletto heel piercing through the man's collarbone like a blade. The wet crunch of snapping bone is almost drowned out by his final, agonized scream. Rachel lands gracefully, standing tall, completely untouchable, her Amazonian physique looming over the remaining men. Only six are left, the chairman not included. He is still on his knees, licking Natalya's pussy. Her breathing is becoming more labored which signals he is doing quite some job. The remaining members of the board are paralyzed with fear, their hands raised in surrender. Rachel grins salaciously.

- Undress. Strip naked. Keep your shoes on.

Her absurd command is met with such zeal and dedication. I have never seen men undress so quickly. I can see they hope that by complying immediately Rachel may show some mercy. Their penises are rock-hard--just like mine, by the way. I can see that some have creamed their pants. The erotic stimulus with these two bodybuilding bimbos is simply so overwhelming, that terror cannot compensate for it or erase it.

- Pathetic. Look at you. Jeez. A group of betas. Looking at some of your dicks, you don't even qualify for beta. Gamma would be more like it. Gamma is the level of inferior cattle at the slaughterhouse.

Then she moves—a creature of muscular perfection. She springs forward, executing a no-handed cartwheel, her legs splitting into a perfect overspread V as she flips effortlessly through the air. As she lands, her left boot lashes out, burying the steel-reinforced tip of her Louboutin deep into a man's groin. He doubles over, gasping in shock, collapsing instantly, not even able to register the pain. His groin is destroyed, mutilated heavily by her brutal kick.

- Don't ever show me a penis that small. Men built like that deserve to be tortured for days before death comes as a relief. Get up! Get the fuck up, inferior dick!

Rachel snatches a solid silver letter opener lying on the table, approaches the whining man who is back on his feet again, positions her hand with the paperknife between his legs, pushes the blade up his ass and pulls it back with brutal force, slicing him open from below. The sheer power of Rachel's action destroys his crotch area, ripping everything apart: his ass, his testicles, his penis, his pelvis! It all becomes a bloody, gory mess. When a scream finally escapes from his open mouth, it is a scream from another dimension, unnaturally high-pitched and full of desparation. Rachel smiles seductively, licking her lips, mocking the dying man whose body twitches a couple of times before he goes limp and silent. The last men turn to run, but it is useless. Rachel backflips elegantly into their direction, her colossal legs generating absurd momentum, and lands directly in front of them. Before they can react, she executes a brutal spinning hook kick, her razor-sharp heel slashing across one man's temple with enough force to crack his skull. A second man collapses onto his knees, his entire body trembling, staring up at her like a man facing a goddess of destruction. Rachel steps forward, slowly, deliberately, her Louboutins clicking with merciless finality. She places a hand under his chin, forcing him to meet her piercing, merciless gaze. He is drenched in the blood of his former colleagues. He's trembling, his eyes darting wildly, unable to process the sheer nightmare of what's happening. She whispers, her voice dripping with mock sympathy:

- Don't worry. I'll make this quick.

And with that, she spins on her heel, her quad erupting with godlike power as she delivers a merciless blow. Her red-soled Louboutin heel slams into his temple with a wet, sickening crack. His body goes rigid for a moment, then collapses like a broken puppet. In a show of markswomanship she empties her gun by blowing each of the remaining four men a bullet through their heads, making their skulls simply explode. Blood splatters everywhere. The heavy recoil from shooting the pistol one-handed is easily handled by her large, thick, ultra-strong wrists. Rachel's arms simply bulge with raw power. The scene is simply unreal. Male body after male body hits the ground. A pool of blood covers the floor. They did not stand a chance. Rachel is a one-woman army of death.

- What is it with men these days? No size, no brains. Hahaha!

The boardroom is silent, except for the wet sounds of dripping blood and the occasional groan of a dying man. Rachel stands amidst the wreckage, the once-mighty boardroom now a slaughterhouse filled with broken, twitching bodies. The corpses of the board members lie sprawled across the conference room, their bodies shattered, twisted, lifeless. Blood stains the expensive leather chairs, the polished floor, even the once-pristine papers on the table. The scent of blood lingers in the air, mixing with the faint, intoxicating aroma of Rachel and Natalya's perfume—sweet, yet deadly. Rachel leans back against the shattered table, arms folded, her sculpted bulk barely contained by her tight domme outfit. She idly taps the red sole of her Louboutin boot against the floor, her eyes glowing with icy amusement when she notices how Natalya is enjoying herself with the chairman, her insane mass, sculpted, ultra-ripped, glistening under the room's dim lights. Natalya's huge thighs twitch with anticipation, their size and differentiation dwarfing his head. Her massive, veiny biceps flex dangerously as her hands force his head to go where she wants him to, pushing him, leading him, controlling him. Her tight cocktail dress, already struggling against the sheer size and hardness of her impossible body, is smeared with splashes of blood from the carnage Rachel produced. She smirks down at the chairman, towering over him like an unstoppable executioner. His face is covered in her juices, his eyes are locked onto her perfectly shaven pussy, which is dripping wet. Obscenely wet.

- Only one left. And he still thinks there's a way out.

Natalya's full lips curl into a sultry smirk. I am staring at her breasts—two enormous, artificially enhanced spheres of pornstar perfection, high and impossibly full, completely at odds with the sheer brutality of her muscle mass. They sit proud and immovable, an almost mocking display of ultra-femininity against the inhuman power coiled beneath her skin, the absurdly deep-cut cleavage jiggling with every slight movement. Yet, despite her overwhelming size and muscularity, Natalya's waist remains shockingly tight, a deep wasp-like taper that only accentuates the sheer absurdity of her proportions.

- It's adorable. You actually thought men like you were in charge, didn't you?

Rachel laughs softly from behind.

- Oh, they always think that. Until they see us.

The man tries to speak, but Natalya's fingers tighten, making his jaw creak. She releases him suddenly, watching with amusement as he stumbles back, barely catching himself. Then, she tilts her head, feigning curiosity.

- I'll give you a choice.

Her voice is smooth. The man blinks, hope flickering in his eyes. Natalya's thick, luscious lips, painted in a deep, glossy crimson emphasizing the fullness of her mouth, curl at the corners in a mixture of amusement and menace. She looks so seductive and terrifying.

- Oh, don't look so relieved.

She extends both her monstrous arms with slow and deliberate precision, her fingers curling into fists, and she flexes into a devastating double biceps pose. As Natalya spreads her fingers wide, her biceps seem to pulse and shift, the muscle fibers rippling under her deeply tanned, glossy skin like coiled steel cables tightening beneath the surface. The moment she opens her hands, her biceps peak even higher, the already insane mass of muscle swelling further. Then, as she slowly curls her fingers back into a tight fist, the effect is almost hypnotic—her thick, mountainous biceps harden into perfection, their round, impossibly high peaks standing tall, the deep cuts between the heads of her muscles looking almost unreal. I see the man cowering in terror--knowing her bodybuilding physique is not for show but for destruction.

- Choice one. I let Rachel break every bone in your body, one by one. Slowly. She's very... precise.

Rachel smiles, running her fingers over her own massive, veiny forearm.

- Would be a wise choice. I do enjoy my work and I am so fucking good at it. I could keep you hard all the time and I might even let you cum. How about that?

The man swallows hard. Both women roar with laughter. And Natalya continues, her voice silkier than ever.

- Choice two.

She steps closer.

- I squeeze you between my thighs until you turn into a bloody smear on the floor.

The man visibly shudders, his eyes locked onto the monstrous slabs of muscle that are her legs. Rachel chuckles.

- Poor thing. I think he's realizing that no matter what he choses... we win.

Natalya licks her lips, her massive chest rising with amusement.

- Oh, and then there's... choice three.

She grabs him by the collar of his ruined suit and lifts him off the ground effortlessly, letting his legs dangle like a puppet's. His hands claw at her wrists, but they may as well be fighting against steel.

- Choice three is... I rip you in half. How about that?

His breath catches, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. He chokes out:

- You—you can't—

Natalya grins cruelly, her pearly white teeth gleaming.

- Oh, honey...

Leaning in so close he can feel her breath, she purrs:

- I can. And I will.

Rachel steps forward, tilting her head.

- So? Which is it? I'll make your choice easier. If you go for option one I will do you topless.

The man opens his mouth—but before he can speak Rachel tears open her corset with a swift motion, revealing her gravity-defying boobs, a pair so sexy, so perfectly formed, I become dizzy with arousal. The sculpted muscles of her abdomen are razor-sharp, etched in deep, symmetrical grooves, each ridge standing out like steel beneath her glistening, sweat-slicked flesh. Her skin is tanned to golden perfection, shimmering under the dim lights, making every fiber of her brutal, curvaceous, hyper-feminine physique even more pronounced.

- Behold the body of a goddess, fucking insects!

Her voice echoes through the room.

- A body built, trained for violence. And for sex. I ride any man into oblivion. I fuck them to death.

We stare in awe at her formidable physique, our eyes wide with disbelief. Disbelief about what we see, not about what she says. But Rachel only smirks, her confidence unwavering. The chairman collapses to his knees, gasping, shaking. Natalya laughs softly.

- You can't even chose? Pathetic. Well, if he won't pick, I say we make it... a mix.

Rachel grins.

- Oh, I love that.

The man swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. He looks at Rachel, then Natalya, then the door. Then, without a word, he gets up and bolts. Before he can take more than a few desperate steps, Natalya explodes forward, moving with the speed of a panther. The sheer power of her legs is awe-inspiring. Her Louboutin boots barely touch the ground before she lunges, her body moving with gymnastic grace. In a perfect aerial split, she extends her devastatingly muscular leg, catching him mid-stride with a spinning heel kick. The impact is like a car crash. His body crumples midair, flipping grotesquely before smashing into the conference table. Rachel whistles as a compliment:

- Flawless technique.

Natalya strides over to where he lies half-conscious, a broken mess in a pile of wreckage. Blood drips from his mouth. She pulls him off table and throws him on the floor. Rachel kicks him in the ribs—a casual, almost lazy motion. But even with minimal effort, the impact lifts him off the ground, sending him crashing into the wall. He groans, clutching his side. Natalya steps forward, grinding the sole of her pump onto his hand, crushing his fingers one by one, teasingly.

- Oops. Too weak to stop me?

He screams, writhing, his other hand trying to pry her boot off. Rachel watches with a smirk.

- I don't think he's appreciating the power on display here.

Natalya smirks, lifting her boot—only to slam it back down. His hand is ruined. She crouches, her immense thighs ballooning in size, veins throbbing across her skin. She grabs his pathetically weak arms and lifts him easily, hoisting him off the ground like a ragdoll. Rachel watches, utterly amused, as Natalya pulls him into a monstrous bearhug. The man screams, but it's muffled against her enormous boobs.

- Shhh. Let me enjoy this.

A broken scream rips through the air as his ribs give way, his entire body spasming violently. Natalya squeezes tighter. She shudders with pleasure at the feeling of bone shattering between her vice-like arms. Rachel sighs dreamily.

- Mmm. I love that sound.

Finally, mercifully, Natalya tilts her head.

- You're wondering how this ends for you?

She holds him close, letting his broken, battered body press against her own, suffocating warmth. Her lips brushing his ear, her voice a sultry promise of doom.

- You don't deserve a quick death.

Rachel watches, amused.

- Oh, are you going for something special?

Natalya grins, her grip tightening.

- I think I'll split him.

Rachel whistles low.

- Damn. Haven't seen you do that in a while.

The man's eyes bulge in sheer panic. He shakes his head frantically, his lips trembling.

- N-n—

But it's already too late. With inhuman strength, Natalya grabs his wrists, spreading his arms wide apart like a sacrifice. Her biceps flex, her deltoids swelling to monstrous proportions, her huge pecs straining against the sheer force she's about to unleash. The man lets out a broken, desperate cry, but it only fuels her amusement. She places one sexy pump against his chest, her lethal high-heels digging in, crushing what's left of his ribs. Then—Natalya pulls. The room fills with the wet, sickening sounds of tendons snapping, bones creaking, flesh ripping apart. The man's mouth opens in a soundless scream, his body shaking violently as his limbs are slowly, mercilessly being pulled apart. Natalya's massive traps rise, her gargantuan arms swelling like overcharged pistons, veins pulsing with raw power as she tears him open like a piece of meat. Rachel watches in fascination.

- God, that's so fucking beautiful. With you torture becomes an art.

With one final, monstrous flex, Natalya splits him apart—ripping his torso in two with a final, sickening crack, his organs spilling onto the already ruined floor. Blood sprays across her glistening abs, painting her tanned skin in crimson. Natalya laughs softly, tossing the remains to the ground, letting the two halves slump to either side of her, lifeless and useless. She runs a hand over her steel-cut stomach, admiring the carnage, nudging one half of the corpse with her foot.

- Practice is all it takes. A whole lot of practice. I usually do some hundred men per day when I am training this kind of split. You can also rip them in two by tearing the legs apart. The advantage is that you can destroy their cocks too by using the heels of your pumps or boots. Gives such a nice extra!

And then both bodybuilders simultaneously look at me. I am nailed to the ground. In shock.

- Great minds think alike, don't they? Maybe you can use M. Rosenberg to show me the second technique? I would love to see you do him. I'm sure he's hard.

Rachel smiles seductively. Natalya smirks.

- M. Rosenberg. Call the driver and notify a post-operations team. They'll have plenty of cleaning up to do. You can join us for a nice warm bath before we go to the next address. And just to be clear: when we bathe, no erections are allowed and make sure you are prepared for some tongue action. And I don't expect a speech. We are always super-horny after a job. If you fail us in any way, you know what will happen. I will create two Rosenbergs.

Both women roar with laughter, stepping over the remains of Natalya's last victim, their towering super-sexy forms dripping with lethal dominance. Two goddesses of destruction. There is no way I cannot get hard

[WittyKatarina]

Very impressive addition to the story! Luv it. Natalya and Rachel are both beautiful but I think Rach is my fav. With her guns and markswomanship, gymnastic skills, and thick forearm muscles, she definitely reminds me of someone. ;-) She's much more sadistic and violent than the real life woman, though (and Rach's breasts are much bigger lol).

My favorite part of the story would have to be the part where Rachel is able to move faster than the guys and cut off their escape even when doing gymnastics. There's something especially powerful and admirable about a woman who can do back handsprings faster than a man can run. The natural dominance and intimidation that comes with a skill like that.

Luv your writing, baby!

[Karthikkr25]

Mister Hero...no words to admire your work..you are still rocking with your babies

[hero141]

Both women roar with laughter, stepping over the remains of Natalya's last victim, their towering super-sexy forms dripping with lethal dominance. And with the blood of their victims. Two goddesses of destruction. There is no way I cannot get hard around them in a bath situation. Or in any situation. Jeez, I am doomed... I try to concentrate on my job. That is all I can do. Even before we reach the elevator I have called the driver and texted the post-operations team the address and details for the clean-up. Within seconds I receive an answer. Hank's answer takes a couple of seconds extra, but I know why that is. Poor guy... Still, I am impressed with the extreme diligence and work ethic of these guys.

- Impressive, huh?

It is Rachel again.

- Yeah, I personally re-organized the post-op department. I transformed it into a 24/7 top-quality service driven by efficiency, excellence and the strictest discipline while reducing its cost by 75%. These guys work non-stop for minimum wages. I pay them a visit once a week, evaluating their weekly results. I expose underperformers in front of their colleagues and punish them, making sure there are a couple of job openings every week. Hehe.

My God, Rachel is so ruthless. And so efficient. And so sexy.

--

We take the other elevator and not the one where the horribly mutilated corpses of the killed executives are lying. The sharp smell of death is obvious. I am happy that the elevator doors quickly slide shut with a quiet hiss, enclosing me in the sleek, mirrored box with two of the most powerful, terrifying women I have ever encountered. My pulse is hammering in my ears. They do not even need to speak to remind me of my place. Rachel stands in front of me, shifting her weight slightly, the tight leather of her corset creaking ever so faintly as she exhales. She looks obscenely powerful, every inch of her wrapped in shiny black dominance the corset cinched tight around her waist, her ludicrously sculpted physique bare from the waist down except for a thin, teasing thong and knee-high Louboutin boots. Boots made for crushing. Her bare legs, carved with inhuman muscle, look like sculptures of raw, feminine power, flexing subtly as she shifts her stance. Her arms, too huge, defined, exposed are rippling with pure man-crushing power. She notices my gaze. She notices everything.

- Like what you see, Rosenberg? Of course you do. Every inch of my bodybuilding physique gets your cock hard.

Her lips curl just enough to show a glint of white teeth. I open my mouth to respond mistake. Rachel presses a single finger against my chest, shoving me back into the mirrored wall with barely any effort. I gulp. Natalya, leaning against the other side of the elevator, watches the exchange with casual amusement. Her arms are folded over her massive, impossible chest, barely contained in the low-cut top of her skintight dress. The dress is utterly pointless it tries to cover, but all it really does is frame the absurd proportions of her body. She chuckles.

- He's shaking.

Rachel lets out a slow, mocking sigh.

- Of course he is, Nat. He knows he is sharing the elevator with two sadistic killing machines who killed more men than any serial killer before them. It is beyond compare. Hahaha!

Natalya smiles.

- Yeah, we do more men in one session than the lot of serial killers during their fucking life!

Both women roar with laughter as the elevator continues its descent in smooth silence, the polished gold-lit interior feeling more and more claustrophobic. Rachel flexes her fingers, then slowly, deliberately spreads them wide. Her biceps swell grotesquely huge, peaking in obscene definition, veins snaking over the sculpted bronze surface of her skin. Then she clenches her fists, the muscle popping, rippling, reminding me exactly in how many ways she could crush me if she only wanted to. Her delts swell into sharp, high-rounded peaks, perfectly capping her shoulders like armor, the deep groves separating her delts from her traps. Even at rest, her arms look like they can rip you apart. Rachel does not just work out, she is trained for mass destruction. She catches my stare again.

- Mmm, poor little Rosenberg.

Her voice is practically dripping with amusement.

- Still trying to process how fucking big, how impossibly strong I am? How dangerous these arms are? How lethal these fingers? How deadly these nails? How superior this body?

Natalya snickers.

- I am sure he knows. If he does not know by now, he will never know. I guess he is totally into your muscles, Rach. Or into mine.

They are right. I am totally into their ultra-muscular physiques--I would worship every inch of them. Rachel pretends to examine her own flexing arm, her tone playfully cruel.

- What do you think, Natalya? Should I let him touch? Let him feel what a real bicep is supposed to be like?

Natalya laughs, slow and deep.

- You will make him cum. He is probably hard as fuck.

Rachel's smirk widens.

- That would be nothing unusual. Are you?

I press myself against the mirror, swallowing hard. I nod. There is no way denying my excitement. These women outsmart me in every way and they notice everything. And the bulge in my pants is all too obvious.

- Pools, beaches, saunas, clubs. Everywhere I show up and show some flesh, all men get rock-hard. Some only need a small extra touch to shoot their loads. Most cum hard and uncontrolled without any touch at all.

- I... ... am so... sorry, Rachel... Please... ...

Rachel turns her gaze down to me. Her smile is indulgent, cruel, filled with condescending amusement. She lifts her magnificent arm slowly and sensually curls her fingers into a fist. And then she flexes. The effect is immediate. Her bicep surges upward, peaking like an unnatural, hard, vein-riddled mountain beneath her deeply tanned and shiny skin. The sharp striations dance in the lighting, the sheer density of the muscle making my stomach knot and my penis harder than ever. The prospect of touching this bulging hypertrophied miracle is driving me crazy.

- Well?

Rachel's voice is low, teasing.

- Go on. Touch it. I am sure you never got that close to a professional female bodybuilder.

I indeed never have. My throat goes dry. My hand trembles as I reach out. The moment my fingers graze her warm, steel-hard flesh, she chuckles. A slow, mocking vibration runs through her chest, making me feel even smaller. Rachel's bicep is inhumanly firm, like polished granite wrapped in impossibly smooth skin. The power in it is terrifying more than any man s.

- Pathetic.

She whispers, watching me with icy amusement.

- Your hands are shaking. Are you scared, little man?

I swallow hard, but before I can even answer, she suddenly flexes harder. My fingers are forced apart as the peak of her bicep expands, overwhelming my grip, making my attempt to grasp it utterly useless. Rachel laughs.

- Oops. Too much for you?

The fingers of her other hand reach for my crotch, gently cupping my balls, expertly kneeding them. I startle, unprepared for her touch. My heart is pounding like crazy. I am trembling in arousal, but she seems to sense exactly how much stimulation I need to keep me on the edge. Rachel's grin widens, her piercing eyes glinting.

- You're close, huh? Don't cum, or I'll make you regret you have a cock.

I am terrified and nod again, almost automatically, but I have to use all my willpower not to shoot my load in my pants. I am terrified to cum. And she knows. She leans in, her lips hovering just beside my ear.

- That's adorable. Squeeze my biceps.

It is an order. I do. Or, at least, I try. But it is useless. Her muscle doesn't yield, doesn't budge it's like trying to dent solid steel with bare hands. This is so intimidating and arousing at the same time. Rachel feigns disappointment.

- That's it? Tell me, little man...

Holding her one arm flexed, she lazily drums the red-lacquered nails of her other hand along the insides of my thigh. I startle again and feel myself flushing as her fingers suddenly start manipulating my crotch again, softly massaging my erect shaft through my trousers, gently cupping my balls, teasingly squeezing them. I keep being overwhelmed by the lack of inhibitions, by the sexual forwardness of these babes. And by their skill. Rachel is a virtuoso with her fingers, driving me into a state of pre-orgasmic bliss, making me experience a level of arousal no woman has ever got me into.

- That's it? That's all you've got? How does it feel to know you'll never measure up?

I feel so helpless, so overwhelmed. Humiliated too. And pushed past any control over my impendent orgasm. I fear Rachel is going to hurt me again for not obeying her order. Last time was painful. Very painful.

- You're going to cum, aren't you?

I nod.

- And I cannot punish you for your inadequacy, M. Rosenberg, because I promised Aletta I would not damage you, but I can still put some pressure on you. Suppose I torture some other company property to death if you cum. Say Hank, for example, our diligent driver. What about that, huh?

O no, not Hank. I talked to him before I got into the limo and he is such a sweet and humble guy. And indeed, diligent too. Asked me if I was doing and feeling all right. He genuinely cared.

- He is in love with me, the asshole. He invited me to his house tonight "for a romantic dinner" he said. Hahaha! It sure is going to be a romantic dinner: I am going to wear my tight-leather nurse uniform and force him to eat pussy all night. He is so freaking good at it! I was going to give him the night of his life, but I may as well make it an unforgettable night for other reasons. Hahaha! I'll send you the footage: imagine a guy attached to the wall, a hyper-muscular domme dressed in tight latex, a steel baseball bat and a whole night to break his bones before the kill. I wonder if you will be able to look at the footage. Or maybe I'll impale him on my 20 inch strap-on dildo and destroy his ass and then break the rest of him. Mmm. Getting horny thinking of it...

I panic and try to think of anything but dominant muscle babes, but her hand over my crotch prevents me from thinking about anything else. I am totally under her spell. I do not want to have her butchering Hank because of me...

- Worship my biceps. Kiss it.

My lips brush against the iron-hard curve of her bicep, warm, smooth, impossibly dense beneath my kiss. The heat of her skin radiates dominance, raw power, something almost inhuman in its erotic perfection. For a second, I am lost in it. Slowly, hesitantly, I lean in further. My lips brush against the peak of her bicep, soft against the impossibly hard, sculpted muscle beneath. The moment I do it, something inside me snaps. The warmth of her skin, the density of her strength, the undeniable power radiating from her body it is too much. A mix of worship and fear washes over me, and I do the only thing my instincts demand. I kiss her again. Deeper this time. Rachel lets out a low, amused chuckle and grabs the back of my head, gripping my hair, yanking me backward with humiliating ease. I barely have time to gasp before she jerks my head up, forcing me to look into her eyes. The amusement is still there, but now there s something else beneath it. Sheer cruelty. Something beastly sadistic. Her thick, glossy lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. And then suddenly her hand clamps around my throat and she lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing. My feet dangle in the air, my hands flying to her iron grip as she holds me there effortlessly, smirking. She coos:

- That was cute, but did I say you could do that?

She watches me struggle. My eyes must be wide, filled with a mixture of fear, awe, and something else something deeper. Rachel tuts.

- Tsk, tsk. I let you worship me, and you got greedy. I suppose I should teach you some... restraint.

And with a flirtatious little smile, she  slams me hard into the elevator wall. Very hard. My skull collides with the steel panel with a loud thud, my vision exploding into white stars. My knees buckle as Rachel finally releases me, letting me slump against the wall, dazed. Rachel brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, then admires her nails, acting as if she didn't just casually knock me senseless. With a playful smirk, she says:

- Oops. Guess I don't know my own strength.

Natalya snickers.

- Liar.

Rachel winks.

- Fine. Maybe I do. But where is the fun in holding back?

She glances down at me, my head is still spinning, my body too weak to move. Natalya chuckles:

- Well, men tend to last longer, learn to appreciate the value of pain and experience how fucking sadistic female bodybuilders can be. Makes great footage to terrorize the rest. Our big bulging muscles aren't just show, we are a lot stronger than we look like...

Stronger than they look like? This is such an intimidating and horrifying statement: their impossibly muscular bodybuilding physiques look ready for Ms. Olympia--their bulging and shiny bodies would even ridicule the other competitors at a Mr. Olympia--, in competition shape, all oiled up, dressed to kill. The slightest glimpse at their hypertrophied curves makes you realize they incorporate ultimate female power: they ooze superiority, they symbolize dominance in every language! Rachel crouches beside me, resting a powerful forearm on her knee. Her other hand simply goes into my trousers and grabs my cock, which is dripping wet from an orgasm. I just could not help it.

- Last longer? Jeez, you came in your pants.

Then, with a sexy toss of her thick, dark curls, she releases my crotch and gets up, adjusting the leather corset that still barely contains her magnificent boobs.

- Did I say you could do that? I usually let men beg for an orgasm that I never grant them. And cumming without permission gets you a one-way ticket to my dungeons, a place where male humiliation and suffering are turned into an artform and where male existence is narrowed down to servicing my girls and experiencing pain. Excruciating pain. Ten thousands of men crowd these dungeons which are ruled by a small troupe of gorgeous bodybuilding babes, an elite group of super-sexy and ultra-powerful women whose sexual appetites are nothing less than outrageous. To them men in the dungeon are nothing more than living dildos, fuck-toys whose sole purpose in life is the satisfaction of their ultra-sadistic urges. Men in the dungeon are left naked, starved and with too many in these filthy cells. The slightest misstep, the tiniest disobedience, the smallest infringement of rules is met with extreme and horrific violence. In dozens of torture rooms a selection of men is ordered to beat other inmates who are tied to he wall, to death. With their bare hands, that is. Makes a pretty spectacle! If they refuse, which does not happen too often but some men are real heroes, my girls quickly show them the error of their ways. They are nailed to a cross and slowly transformed into suffering heaps of broken bones, ripped tendons and crushed torsos. Their cocks and balls get a special treatment--let me say this: merely watching these bodybuilding babes mutilating male genitals is horrifying and causes severe, irreversible trauma; being at the receiving end of their talented hands is simply hell on earth. Men go totally nuts. Hehe. No wonder: they are so inventive and creative when it comes to handling cock. Footage of the torture fest is channelled through these big screens which are everywhere in the dungeon. So, men quickly learn that when they see a half-naked muscular beauty all dressed up in some kinky leather outfit, her body all shiny from the oil it has been rubbed in with, that it is better not too get too excited. These guys are the first to learn that my girls are sex-crazed killing machines, built to kill, trained to destroy and addicted to erections, only to punish you for it. They torture just for the fun of it. It gets them off.

Jeez, I blew it.

- I cannot send you, but I can send Hank to my dungeon. Tell my girls to do him slowly. Hank will be in for days of kinky brutalities. Or I can do him myself tonight. Anyway, an innocent man will suffer the consequences of your lack of control, M. Rosenberg. How about that? You don't have to worry too much yourself: you got your contracts and your orgasm, right? But what about Hank? He is in for hours of inhumane suffering without him even knowing it. He will soon find out, won't he, when I show him some love tonight? Mmm, fuck the dungeon. I'll do him myself. I love the idea that the woman he loves will torture him to death. May create interesting sexual dynamics. Hehe.

I feel so guilty. And foolish.

- Please, Rachel. Don't do this. You don't have to do this. I beg you. Don't punish him.

Natalya chuckles softly, not even sparing me a glance. Her gaze is focused on her gorgeous reflection in the mirrored walls, admiring her iconic breasts and her perfect, sculpted body, as though she couldn't care less about my existence. I guess she saved my life already a couple of times by keeping Rachel in check, but I am sure that as soon as if I fall out of Aletta's grace, Natalya would be the first to show me how good she is at fucking up men. Her long, manicured nails lightly trace the straps of her dress, as if she has all the time in the world. She looks so effortlessly superior, like she's already won before the game even started.

- The more you plead, Rosenberg, the more painful it will be for Hank. So, stop complaining if you care just a little bit for the guy.

Rachel smiles in delight, her gorgeous face radiating sheer malice and sadism.

- Hehe. You just added an hour of extreme cbt to my scenario, Rosenberg. Hank's genitals will become a warzone, a wasted spot where pain is master. And I cannot say I do not look forward to it. Anything else?

I remain quiet. Dejected. Guilty. Rachel grins at my silence.

- How stupid to wet your pants. You really like me, don't you? All men do, but you still like me after you realized I am a psychopathic corporate enforcer and an ultra-sadistic henchwoman. Is that even legally possible? Hahaha!

I bow my head. The elevator dings softly, the descent finally ending. As the doors open with a smooth whoosh, the fresh air and sound of the city's bustling streets suddenly rush into the space. I am momentarily distracted by the change of atmosphere, but it's clear that my status hasn't changed. It's still the same. I am still nothing compared to them.

--

The limousine idles at the curb, its sleek black frame gleaming under the entrance lights. The glass doors of the towering skyscraper slide open, and we step out, Natalya leading the way with her slow, commanding strut, Rachel right behind her, radiating intoxicating confidence, and me, lingering like an afterthought, my nerves coiling tight in my stomach. Hank is already standing beside the limo, stiff as a soldier, his arms awkward at his sides, both hands encased in plaster, a fresh reminder of Rachel's mercurial moods. He tries to straighten as we approach, but the moment he catches sight of Rachel in that impossibly tight, black leather corset, his composure wavers. Her outfit is a masterpiece of dominance. The corset crushes her waist into an inhuman hourglass while putting her absurdly deep cleavage on shameless display, her tits perched atop solid, sculpted muscle. The high-cut thong leaves little to the imagination, and those kinky knee-high Louboutin boots, sleek and menacing with their signature red soles, add an extra level of intimidation to her towering, Amazonian stature.

Hank's throat bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes flickering helplessly between her magnificent cleavage hardly contained within her corset, the sharp definition of her abs pushing through her outfit, the way her powerful arms swell with the slightest movement, and the taunting smirk curling on her glossy lips. Rachel cocks her head, watching him squirm. The sight is jarring, a stark contrast to the typically confident man who would greet anyone with a smile. His face betrays a mix of emotions, pain and fear, but also something else, something darker, and undeniably infatuated. Hank's eyes flicker to Rachel as she walks toward him, every step exuding an almost unreal confidence. He winces slightly when she makes eye contact, probably the memory of the painful crack of his bones still fresh in his mind. Yet, in spite of everything, there's adoration in his gaze, a kind of desperate yearning that's hard to disguise.

- You okay, Hank?

Her voice is casual, almost sweet, but there's an edge to it, a reminder of just how little she actually cares for him, despite the fake warmth in her tone. Hank tries to smile, but it's strained, his discomfort evident as he looks at his plastered hands, his fingers still aching from the brutal force she's used earlier.

- Yeah, just a little... setback...

He mutters, his voice thick with both humility and fear. He's terrified of what Rachel is capable of, but there's something else, a sick fascination in his heart that makes his eyes linger on her despite the pain. Rachel steps closer to him, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. She studies his plastered hands, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

- You poor thing. Broken?

He flinches at the word. Her voice is dripping with mock sympathy.

- But you know, I have to admit... You're surprisingly loyal. It's cute, really. For a weak little man.

- I--I just want to do a good job, Miss Rachel.

She hums as if considering his words.

- You think I am too harsh, Hank?

I see him startle. The directness of her question terrifies the shit out of him. Rachel lifts her finger—long, polished, and tipped with a gleam of lacquered crimson—and places it gently beneath Hank's chin. He stiffens as though electrified. She tilts his face upward, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

- I asked you a question, Hank. Do you think I'm too harsh?

The sunlight catches the contour of her superbly striated deltoid as she extends her arm, her bicep swelling subtly with the pressure she exerts—not much, but enough to remind everyone watching that her ultra-muscular body is a weapon of mass destruction. Hank swallows again. His plaster-encased hands twitch, useless at his sides.

- N-no, Miss Rachel. You are always fair. I love to be in your team: I love to serve you.

- Hmm, good answer.

She releases his chin and I watch from behind, a few steps back, how the same hand cups his crotch, the density and vascularity of her arms simply breath-taking, showing she is in peak condition.

- I jerked you off twice in the limo and I didn't even have to work your prostate. Took me less than thirty seconds. Get hard for me.

Her long, manicured nails flash for a second before her fingers hook into the waistband of Hank's pants. With one brutal, practiced yank, the fabric rips—seams bursting apart, belt flying loose—and the ruined trousers crumple around his ankles, leaving him standing there, exposed with a raging boner in the middle of the street. Hank keeps his composure, but I notice he is dying inside: pale and wide-eyed, paralyzed by the sudden exposure and the mocking curve of Rachel's lips.

- Mmm, you know what I see, Hank? I see a ridiculously small cock that comes nowhere near the kind of rods I usually suck and fuck. But I also see total obedience. That's what I like about you, Hank, your unconditional obedience and dedication. Now, jerk off for me.

Rachel stretches her unreal arms rolling her broad shoulders and then strikes a mind-blowing double-biceps pose. The movement makes every cut and ridge of muscle stand out beneath her flawless, bronzed skin. Her biceps peak, hard and full, veins snaking down toward her forearms. Even her lats flare slightly, an obscene display of raw power wrapped in seductive femininity. Hank, pants in shreds around his ankles, stares at her in horror and awe, his shoulders stiffening. His hands, both in plaster, tremble slightly. The thick bandages bulge like pale restraints, his fingers immobile beneath the molded shell. His twitching erection reveals his extreme excitement.

- I... I can't. I mean—Miss Rachel, I'm not really able to—

She catches Hank's stare and grins, arching her back and lifting her chin in an obvious display of dominance, showing off the exaggerated curves of her magnificent boobs erotically exposed by her tight corset—the sheer mass of her upper body is so prominent, so commanding, and so utterly unapologetic. I am amazed at how the outrageous size of Rachel's tits blends so perfectly with the ballooning vascular muscle mass surrounding them. The erotic stimulus of her curves is simply orgasmic. She is ridiculously sexy. Gorgeous all over. Physically perfect. Even her ultra-feminine elegance and natural beauty are means to humiliate her victims, to lure them into her lair where she rips them apart...

- You like what you see, don't you Hank? Fuck, look at his cock! It's turned purple in arousal. I think I will have to borrow your collection of sounding rods, Natalya. I'll teach him some decency in front of a woman.

- Hahaha, Rach! Decency in front of a woman... I want men to be hard when I am around, and dripping with precum. That sounds decent, doesn't it? And I consider every erection under the ten inch mark as indecent. I'll have them torn apart. Clubbed. Beaten. Humiliated with hours of cbt: that's the only decent thing you can do with such cocks! Hahaha! You heard your Goddess, midget. Jerk off!

Hank stiffens, his mouth opening, then shutting again. He has no way to do what they demand. Only digging himself deeper into humiliation. Rachel chuckles, stepping even closer. She is nearly pressed against him now, her ballooning chest just inches from his trembling frame. He barely reaches her shoulders, and the sheer density of her body makes his own seem laughably small, fragile. Weak. With a slow, teasing motion, she flexes her right arm again, letting her bicep swell to its full, rock-hard peak. Then she extends her fingers, spreading them wide before clenching them into a fist again, making the muscle ripple under her smooth skin.

- Look at this baby, Hank.

She whispers, her voice both sultry and mocking.

- Bigger than your whole thigh, isn't it? You like it?

Hank lets out a nervous breath.

- O yes!... I do.

- Oh, I do know you do.

Rachel cuts him off, her voice dripping with amusement. She theatrically lowers her magnificent arm, extends her index finger and seductively caresses Hank's twitching erection. Softly. Lightly. Expertly. Hank goes crazy.

- Mmm, we're excited, aren't we? You jerk off all the time fantasizing about my bodybuilding physique, don't you?

His face burns, ashamed, but he nods. Rachel smiles and sighs, feigning disappointment.

- All my male employees do. They all walk around with these shamelessly inferior hard-ons every time they catch a glimpse of me. And here I thought you might at least show me some control. You're nothing next to me, Hank. Nothing.

She stops teasing him with her finger, savagely grabs his balls and easily lifts him with one hand, like he weighs nothing. His plastered hands try to hold on to her ultra-muscular arm she lifts him with.

- Don't cum in my hand, you horny fuck! Or I'll rip you apart.

- Please, Miss Rachel. Don't hurt me. You're my Goddess. I simply adore everything about you. I'd give you anything.

Hank swallows so hard I can hear it.

- What could you possibly have that I'd want, huh?

- I just want to serve you, Miss Rachel. Any way I can.

Her smirk deepens.

- I know, baby. That's so adorable.

Natalya steps forward at that moment, her exaggerated curves on full display, her all-revealing cocktail  dress showing the deeply tanned, shiny skin of her huge protruding tits. This gorgeous woman is simply the perfect blend of ultra-sexy femininity and the brutal hyper-muscular physicality of a pro-bodybuilder. A male one, that is. God, she looks so out-of-this-world. A comic-book heroin. A fantasy character. My thoughts spiral. How can a human being look like this? Like a goddess chiselled from bronze and blood—every inch carved for intimidation, sex and violence. Her biceps are round and swollen, almost unnaturally so, the skin tight over thick cords of muscle. Her chest rises with every breath, the dress pulled taut over curves that defy logic. I shouldn't be looking, but it's impossible not to. Natalya's obscene in the most terrifying, magnetic way. I'm not just impressed. I'm scared. There's a cold weight in my gut, a twist of fear wrapped in something darker—something I don't want to admit. She radiates power. Not the kind you can reason with, not the type you negotiate across a boardroom table. This is raw, animal strength. It humbles you. Diminishes you. I feel... less. Smaller. Weaker. Natalya looks Hank over coldly. Her voice drips with sarcasm:

- Adorable? A broken little man, desperate for affection from the woman who crippled him. And who just now decided to totally do him. It's pathetic.

Rachel chuckles softly and leans in, letting her breath brush against Hank's ear.

- Don't listen to her, Hank. She is just jealous. You are my favourite employee, you know that, don't you?

Hank stiffens the moment Rachel says it. She says it like a joke—airy, careless, with that signature glint in her eye that always hints at mockery. But Hank doesn't hear the sarcasm. Or maybe he choses not to. From where I stand, I can see the reaction ripple through him. His mouth parts slightly. And then—his smile. It's small, barely there, but unmistakable. A flicker of something fragile. Hope, maybe. Or longing. He lowers his gaze like he's afraid she'll see it, but I see it clearly. Hell, anyone watching would. He's drowning in her, completely enthralled.

- I just enjoy hurting you a little. Makes me so wet. You will make the perfect partner tonight, won't you? I can hurt you a little, right?

He nods. O God, how he nods. How he tries to act and behave courteously around her. He has no idea what she has in store for him. My God, I have to warn him.

- You have no idea how honoured I feel to have you over, Miss Rachel. I have been preparing for this moment for weeks. You won't regret it, I can tell you. You are so beautiful.

Rachel, meanwhile, doesn't even pause. She's already texting something on her mobile, moving on, her attention elsewhere. But Hank? He's still standing there, staring at the space where she stood, as if her words are something sacred. I can't tell if I pity him. Or if I just envy his blindness. And then Natalya laughs:

- You actually believe her, don't you?

Hank looks over, startled, caught in the act of basking in Rachel's passing approval. Natalya smiles at him—not kindly. It's the kind of smile that makes you feel like you've missed a joke, and worse, that the joke was you. And Natalya casually adds:

- She says that to every man right before they end up in some hospital. Usually they end up in a body bag because what is left of the body has stopped to look human... 'Hurting you a little' my ass!

Her gaze flicks to his bandaged hands with deliberate precision. Hank flinches slightly. He wants to laugh with her, maybe even play along—but it's obvious he doesn't know how. He doesn't know whether she's teasing him or warning him. Probably both. Natalya leans forward a bit, lowering her voice just enough to make it feel intimate, but not quite private.

- You're sweet, Hank. Sweet and she is going to make you last. You have no idea. I hope you are ready for it. She won't only break your heart.

Hank looks puzzled, not only by her last remark, but she is not giving him much time to react. I think Hank's heart sinks a little. He must be so in awe of Rachel's power, her cruelty, but at the same time, he must be utterly infatuated with her. Meanwhile Rachel turns toward the limo, giving Hank one last, almost flirtatious glance, and a smile that says she controls him completely. She calls over her shoulder, her voice laced with disdain.

- Hurry up, you slow fuck! We've got places to be. Don't keep us waiting.

- I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Rachel. I will make it up this evening.

- I'm sure you will, Hank. I'm sure you will.

Hank awkwardly and clumsily opens the doors of the limo for us. It must be so hard to open a door with both hands plastered, but Hank manages to open the doors. With a satisfied hum, Rachel playfully turns and elegantly slips into the limousine. Hank's eyes are glued to her lush and curvaceous physique, simply drowning in her ballooning muscular curves. Natalya follows without another word. I hesitate for a fraction of a second, casting a glance at Hank. He is still standing there, his hands useless, his chest rising and falling too fast. I can see he is in pain. He looks utterly wrecked, humiliated, worshipful, and yet hopelessly enthralled. I want to warn him, but I am terrified they'll find out; they are too close.

- Move, Rosenberg.

It is Natalya. Barking the order. I startle and obey immediately, climbing into the limo just as Hank shuts the door behind me. The interior of the limo is sleek and luxurious--even more so than the one we got here with. It smells brand new. Every surface, from the polished mahogany bar to the inlaid armrests, whispers of astronomical expense and uncompromising indulgence. The limo's interior is like a gilded sarcophagus, lined with supple ivory leather hand-stitched with platinum thread. Diamond dust shimmers from the ceiling's embedded constellations, illuminating the solid gold Champagne flutes chilling in their obsidian cooler. Front and center, prominently displayed against a backdrop of polished rosewood, is a custom-built restraint system with gleaming buckles of polished chrome and cuffs in reinforced carbon fiber. The sheer audacity of its open display within such opulence hints at a level of power and impunity that defies conventional morality. Exactly the kind of device these sadistic muscle babes would use. As soon as the door closes, Rachel smiles salaciously.

- How I missed our custom built baby! And it is all clean again. Our last party was insane, wasn't it? 

Natalya looks so happy as she kneels beside the polished mahogany bar. Her gaze holds a chilling focus as she runs her hand over the contents of a sleek, black leather bag she's pulled from a hidden compartment. Inside, nestled in velvet-lined slots, gleams an array of instruments that turn my stomach to ice. There is the classic brass-knuckle set, its four finger holes worn smooth from use, beside a more modern, sleeker carbon-fiber version that seemed impossibly light yet undoubtedly lethal. My gaze fixates on a third, truly horrifying piece: a custom-made knuckle duster with sharp, almost fang-like protrusions at each joint, designed not just to incapacitate, but to shred. Holy fuck--this looks horrific! I also see a vicious-looking small, weighted whip with a surprisingly thin, flexible tip. My eyes snag on a set of what looked horrifyingly like thumbscrews, alongside razor-sharp blades for precise, controlled agony. She moves a vial of colorless liquid, then pauses to test the grip of a pair of steel pliers before running a thumb over urethral sounding pins of varying sizes, some huge and electrically wired. Each item is meticulously organized, speaking volumes of a chilling expertise, a profound understanding of human vulnerability, all designed to extract information or compliance, in the most painful ways.

- Yeah, the best torture session in days. I love how utterly cruel you are with your men, Rachel. The kind of sexual humiliations you put them through is worse than the excruciating pain you inflict. Love it!

- Thanks for the compliment, Natalya. And coming from a legend in the business, it means so much to me. Your work at the Russian FSB is so fucking notorious! Footage of your cbt-sessions works so inspiring.

- You're welcome, babe. Great times at FSB! Overseeing and managing more than 1,000 interrogations a day in our 'therapy rooms'. Patients routinely died. Male interrogators usually died too. Hehe. At that time the FSB was dominated by an all-female elite group of uninhibited sadists who had been part--just like me--of a top-secret governmental experiment in creating the ideal soldier, the ultimate fighting machine. Advanced genetic manipulation, intense hormonal treatment, heavy weightlifting and relentless training in all kinds of martial arts created twenty super-women superior in every possible aspect. They all look like I do physically, with a similar insatiable appetite for sex and violence.

- Jeez, Nat, one bodybuilding porn queen like you means death and destruction. Imagine what twenty such babes mean!

- O indeed, the FSB in Moscow was a notorious place, a place that was ruled by twenty registered psychopaths engineered to kill, fit as fuck. As you can imagine, no man was safe there. They were just means to satisfy our sadistic needs and sexual desires. Even those higher up in the hierarchy were bossed around, forced to do stuff. We didn't care. We humiliated them, raped them, tortured and slaughtered them. Who could stop us? We did whatever we desired. Men didn't last long. God, they didn't. All girls made blitz-careers in the Russian power structure. Killed anybody in their way, fucked everybody important. I guess Putin gave us carte blanche to do whatever we wanted as long as we supported him. Every member of the super-soldier experiment is now head of some national power system. Or has made a fortune as elite enforcer or high-end assassin. Generally both.

- Jeez, Nat. Sounds like we can use them. All our men need therapy too! Learning to control their erections and ejaculations around me. Hahaha!

Natalya roars with laughter.

- You would have adapted very quickly at the FSB, Rachel! You would have blended in perfectly. I am so happy to have my bag with paraphernalia back. I don't know what was harder to clean in the limo: the blood, the sperm, the piss or the shit?

- Hahaha! I don't know, Nat, but the cleaners did a mighty good job. They worked so fucking meticulously. So scrupulously. Such dedication! The car even smells new. I'll allow them to jerk off.

- Yeah, but no cumming, right? And then have them transferred to the dungeon. As usual.

- Hahaha! This is indeed my usual procedure. There is nothing better to keep guys in line than by showing them who is the boss. Dedication is good, but fear is much better. I'll ask my girls to give them a special treatment. I'll have them anally abused and then ripped apart. Slowly of course. My girls love these pegging marathons, keeps them in shape.

As soon as I am in the limo, Rachel grabs me by my hair, savagely pulls my head backwards so that my neck nearly breaks and looks me straight in the eye. I hear how Hank has taken his seat behind the wheel, and how the car slowly rolls away.

- Don't fuck with me, Rosenberg! I don't like lawyers who talk too much.

And with that she brutally slams my face against her thigh. It feels like hitting a warm slab of concrete wrapped in velvet. Her quad slightly tenses under my cheek, and the pressure makes my jaw click. I freeze. My heart is jackhammering. Pain hits me and fear. Fear of her power.

- ... Please, I had no intention to...

And the gorgeous bodybuilder slams down my head again, this time a lot harder. A white-hot agony explodes behind my eyes and across my face. My teeth, with a sickening crunch, become instruments of torture as they tear through the soft flesh of my own lips from the inside. A hot, metallic taste of blood instantly floods my mouth, mingling with grit. My lips throb, swollen and raw, indicative of the brutal impact.

- Shut. The. Fuck. Up. I expect unconditional obedience. Compliance without the slightest doubt. Even the thought of breaching my orders is punished severely.

And hen Rachel rams my face a third time against her bulging thigh. She uses such force that I hear a sickening crunch echoing in my skull: my jaw screams with an unnatural looseness, as it feels like it had been knocked sideways and no longer fits together. Trying to move it sends shards of agony radiating up to my temples, and my teeth grind against each other in a horrifyingly wrong way. I can feel I am bleeding. Blood is dripping from my mouth all over her glorious thighs. Up close, I cannot help but notice that her thighs are simply titanic—not just big, but brutally defined. The kind of definition that speaks of years under heavy iron, of pushing past male bodybuilding limits. Thick cords of muscle run like steel cables from her hips to her knees, every twitch revealing new ridges, as if her skin barely manages to contain the hypertrophied density beneath. Each shift in her weight draws out another distinct contour: the teardrop of her quads bulges over dense, striated muscles that roll beneath her deeply tanned skin like tightly packed cables. The sheen of perspiration clings to every curve, exaggerating the depth between each ridge and groove. It's as if her body was built not just for strength, but to command attention. There's no softness, no hesitation in how she carries that mass—just calm, terrifying control.

- Don't break him in, Rach. Yet.

- I'll fucking rebuild his pretty face. He has no idea who he is messing with. It's pain I'm after, Nat. Pain with pure and unfiltered agony. If  I wanted him broken, every bone in his fucking body would have been broken five times by now! Going to pinch one of his balls and plug him. What do you think?

I feel my head spinning as I hear them giggle excitedly. They genuinely enjoy hurting me. The sharp, searing pain recedes somewhat, but I am being knocked out: my vision is tunnelling as the clamour of the world around me slowly fades into a distant, muffled hum before a slap of her hand pulls me back into reality.

- Stay with me, asshole! Did I order you to faint, huh? Don't fucking dare to go unconscious on me.

- O Rachel, you mean using those inflatable new plugs? They're brutal: most men aren't up for them. Especially the separate prostate stimulation combined with the inflating capacity drives them nuts. Some asshole are torn apart, literally, while they have to fight their permanent hard-on from not cumming. Such fun!

In a haze I experience how Rachel pulls me on my back. It doesn't seem to cost her any effort to manoeuvre my body the way she wants it to be. She must be so incredibly powerful! I startle when I feel her experienced fingers fumbling my balls. And then suddenly my world narrows to a single, blinding point of impact as a sickening, electric jolt shoots straight up into my stomach, instantly stealing my breath and making my vision swim. Then comes the wave--a deep, nauseating ache that blooms with an intensity I have never experienced. The pain isn't just localized; it throbs with a brutal, internal pressure, sending tendrils of fire into my lower abdomen, while my hands instinctively fly down to cup the injured area, a useless gesture because I only encounter the hyper-trophied forearm of a female bodybuilder so developed I feel every bulging striation throb with unabashed power. It's alive with movement. The overwhelming agony makes me want to curl into a ball and disappear until it stops. But it does not stop.

- How does that feel, huh?

And then --when I think the pain is withering--I experience an incandescent flash of pure, white-hot agony that explodes from my groin upwards, instantly stealing my breath and vision. It's not just pain; it's a horrifying sensation of something soft and vital yielding, a sickening, internal pop or tearing. I immediately feel a profound, gut-wrenching nausea and a deep, radiating ache that floods my lower abdomen and makes my whole body buckle, leaving me totally wrecked. I scream. I scream my lungs out in pain.

- Men say I am a magician with balls. You agree, Rosenberg? Consider yourself lucky: I didn't pop it, I merely massaged it a little... Hahaha! Let's get the plug in.

When I feel Rachel's fingers opening up my pants and ripping off my underpants I am shaking in utter fear. Talented fingers start probing my asshole, my body reacts independently and goes in a state of distress, tensing all over.

- Mmm, a virgin asshole, right?

I nod, although technically I am not any more. Ever since being with these bodybuilding women, my ass has been violated repeatedly, not in the least by Denise aka Elle and Kass.

- Don't worry, I do virgin assholes all the time.

I feel strong, unforgiving fingers entering my ass. Fingers knowing their way. It is such an intimate spot and so I feel like I am being raped by this female bodybuilder.

- Relax. I could make you cum in no time without even touching your cock.

And to prove her point her talented fingers force me into a throbbing erection. And I say 'force' because I don't have any control over anything. Her fingers up my ass drive me mad with arousal, ready to shoot the biggest orgasm of my life.

- See? But I am not here to make you cum, am I? 

Suddenly I feel this object entering my ass. It feels huge. Unnaturally huge. It feels like I am going to explode. Like it is going to tear up my asshole.

- It's popped in. If you would want to remove it without my permission, one-inch steel pins will pop out of its shaft and settle into your asshole. Quite the prospect, isn't it? Not that this will kill you, but you don't want it. It's programmed with a touch-ID. Now, let's inflate it. To 8 inches.

And I see her pushing a tiny remote control.

- O please, Rachel.

- 10 inches.

- God, no... I beg you.

- He doesn't get it: let's do 12 inches. Hahaha!

I keep quiet while I feel the infernal thing growing in my ass. If I thought it was big before and felt awkward, I am about to explode now. An alien force has invaded me. My God, I am in so much pain. And it feels so awfully awkward.

- Mmm, most men's asses start tearing at 15 inches. Well, it's the girth that does it of course. It must be 4 or 5 inches by then. The fun starts when it starts riding your prostate. You'll lose it, Rosenberg.

And indeed, suddenly I experience a stimulation up my ass I have never before experienced. That thing pushes all my on-buttons at once. Rachel and Natalya roar with laughter as I try to fight an impending orgasm.

- No orgasm, I said, you stupid fuck. Is it so difficult for you to comply with one single order, huh? Let's see how you cope with this.

- Be careful, Rach. Don't kill him.

- Don't worry, Natalya. However much I would love to beat him to death, I won't. He may pee blood the next couple of days, that's all, but he wont die.

With that Rachel drives her fist into my crotch. Hard. Without mercy. It feels like my balls are crushed. Squashed. Her strike however is so controlled that it only causes superficial damage and a pain I never imagined possible. I pass out.

--

When I wake up, we are in a wellness room. A luxurious wellness room with a huge jacuzzi. I am lying on a bench next to the jacuzzi. The water is hot, thick with steam, curling around the sculpted bodies of Rachel and Natalya like mist on a battlefield. The scent of exotic oils and eucalyptus fills the air. The massive marble bath looks more like a throne, except I am not the royalty. Actually, I am nothing compared to the bodybuilding queens sitting in the tub. They look like goddesses. So gorgeous! Rachel leans back, stretching her enormous arms behind her head, making her perfectly rounded tits protrude beautifully, the shiny flesh of her deeply tanned skin betraying her Latina background. Her perfect muscles sensually shift and flex beneath the bronzed, glistening skin. The way she moves--deliberate, slow, knowing exactly what effect she has--makes it clear that this is all for her amusement. For her pleasure.

Natalya sighs, rolling her thick, corded shoulders, her muscles rippling with obscene definition. Her massive breasts fit her overwhelmingly muscular physique perfectly. They are massive and look so utterly gorgeous on her! She barely acknowledges my presence--they must assume that I am still unconscious--as she watches intently how  two men—both junior staff, lean and clearly out of their depth—are half-carrying, half-dragging a third figure between them. The injured man groans faintly, barely conscious, his legs buckling beneath him. His face has been completely destroyed. It's simply gone! Flatted out. Bloody. The two carrying him exchange anxious glances. Neither says a word. Their hands tremble slightly as they grip his arms tighter, struggling to keep his weight balanced between them.

- See, you don't need the knucks, Rachel.

One of the men looks back toward Natalya, who hasn't moved from where she is inside the jacuzzi. She stretches a shoulder, calm and composed, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Suddenly she rises from the jacuzzi in one fluid motion, water cascading from her sculpted frame. The steam clings to her skin, highlighting every striation, every hard-earned ridge of muscle across her back and shoulders. Without warning, she bolts into motion, launching into a tumbling pass across the open floor—a blur of controlled power and perfect form. She springs into a round-off, her feet slapping the tile with precision, then immediately whips into a back handspring. Her deltoids and triceps contract sharply as she pushes off the ground, arms catching and releasing her entire body weight with effortless grace. A tucked backflip follows—high, tight, and explosive—her core snapping her into rotation, her abs rippling beneath her taut skin. Deep grooves carve through her eight-pack, clearly defined, each contraction creating anatomical art in motion. But it is her tits that capture all my attention: firm, huge, protruding, and moving and shaking so beautifully with each rotation of Natalya's jacked body. I am watching, my breath caught in my throat. I am in awe, certainly—who could deny the sheer athletic brilliance—but there's something else: the intimidating awareness of just how powerful she really is. Natalya isn't just showing off. She's reminding everyone that she could outrun, outlift, and outfight us all. And she makes it look beautiful!

The two men—struggling to carry the groaning, limp body of their unconscious colleague—freeze in place, unsure whether to run or bow. They don't get the chance to decide. Natalya channels the velocity from her last tumble into a full-body torque: with a blur of movement, Natalya launches into a breath-taking spinning kick. Her leg arcs high above her head, every muscle in her quads and hamstrings flexing with terrifying precision. The shiny, deeply tanned flesh of her sculpted glutes is all I see as her momentum carries her into a full tornado kick. She doesn't hit the men—she simply hits them like a truck. The impact is seismic! The tremendous power and shockwave of her kick detonates them backwards, sending them flying against the wall, one crashing hard, his ribcage crushed. Total shutdown. He is lying on the ground gasping for oxygen, spasming in agony, blood dribbling from his mouth. The other is struggling to get up, blood oozing from a wound at the back of his head. Her foot must have hit him there. He is severely hurt, but instinctively he tries to move away from the source of danger, but Natalya is behind him immediately. Another, less theatrical sweep of her leg clips his calf—enough to knock his footing off, enough to injure and incapacitate. He goes down hard, gasping, hands half-raised. Natalya smiles and purrs:

- I hope you boys weren't thinking of leaving before the performance was over. You'd miss all the fun.

Her voice is low and rich with amusement. Her biceps ripple as she adjusts her ponytail, deliberately flexing her arm. The muscle swells like a coiled serpent beneath her skin, catching the overhead lights with a sheen of power. He stares up, awestruck and petrified.

- So fucking slow. I ordered you to clean up quickly, didn't I? Now, call another cleaning team, will you? Make sure they are here immediately. Once you're done calling, I will kill you.

I don't breathe. I can't breathe. This cannot be happening. He pleadingly looks up into the eyes of the muscular predator and quickly takes his mobile. "I need a team of cleaners for the wellness room. Urgent case, three bodies. Please, make it quick! Natalya is still here."

- Mmm, such a good boy. You already included your own corpse in the count. Hehe! I like your obedience, even in the face of death.

With barely a breath, she moves—fluid, explosive. Her leg arcs through the air in a blinding spin, and her foot slams into his torso. I hear the dull grunt of impact—and I flinch, even though none of it is directed at me. She doesn't even look winded. Her chest rises and falls with the smooth rhythm of total cardiovascular control. And when she flexes her bicep—God—there's no softness in her frame. Just geometry carved in motion. I can see the vein travel down her arm like a road map of pain, see the round ball of muscle peak and tighten under the flawless tan of her skin. I flinch. I can't help it. Watching her in motion is so beautiful, arousing and brutal. There's pride in her posture, and an amused smirk as she glances my way—she knows I'm watching.

- Thought I would be gentler on him, Rosenberg? I am never gentle on my men.

[Brogun]

Interesting developments continue to occur.  Nice to have a place to talk with another guy who isn't directly involved, but is in the know...then, boom...he's detained at work?!  Uh, oh.  Idk, after what we just read it makes me suspicious. LOL  Looking forward to continuing!

[Prophaniti]

Good update, can't wait for more!

[Brogun]

Interesting developments continue to occur.  Nice to have a place to talk with another guy who isn't directly involved, but is in the know...then, boom...he's detained at work?!  Uh, oh.  Idk, after what we just read it makes me suspicious. LOL  Looking forward to continuing!

Awesome stuff man, and I can't wait to see how she makes him suffer for the next 50+ floors

O I like Rachel, the person who was hired to inspire terror in a company like this has gotta be crazy

I could use an accompanying team like this in business...but a hostile takeover would be imminent.

[hero141]

:-) Thanks for the comments! A hostile takeover would probably be the least of your worries... :-) Natalya and Rachel continue with their work. Suggestions are welcome!

The man is trying to recover from Natalya's attacks, blood still oozing from his head. He is obviously short of breath. The impact of her foot must have broken some of his ribs. He moans in pain. Without warning, she unleashes a snap kick—her leg firing forward like a piston. The ball of her foot slams into the guy's sternum with a sharp thud, sending him flying backwards violently crashing against the wall. I see her quads bulge impressively as she approaches him, the rippling striations along her thighs catching the light.

- Breath-taking, huh? Now, get up! You still have legs, don't you?

He gasps for air as he tries to get up and fend off her next attack, trying to move backward, only to be treated by a superbly executed side kick from her other leg—lower, precise, aimed at his knee. It breaks his leg--everyone can hear it break, a nasty wet sound.

- Don't you love the sound of a bone breaking? Mmm, perhaps the sound of several breaking.

He cries in pain. Screaming for mercy. Pleading. But she doesn't care. Pivoting fluidly, Natalya arcs her leg into a brutal hook kick, her hips snapping with explosive grace. The heel connects his neck, twisting its head sharply to the side with a muted whump. Her upper body with her fantastic boobs remains composed, her delts and triceps flexing subtly beneath her skin. This is a pro at work. Someone who is used to slowly destroying people. To hurting people. I think if she would have wanted, this kick could have decapitated him, but now, she only used the power to hurt him a little, although I notice he is not able to get his head back straight again. And before he can recover, Natalya spins into a roundhouse kick. Her entire body coils and unwinds in one seamless motion, and the man is launched off the floor, slamming heavily against the floor. Her glutes and hamstrings contract powerfully, a testament to years of relentless training. The man is unable to respond to her onslaught. How can he? The ferociousness and aggression of her attack are simply beastly. His cries go sky-high, his breathing becomes laboured--numerous ribs must have been broken. Finally, she delivers an axe kick—her leg rising impossibly high before crashing down like a hammer onto his chest. The impact sends a shudder through his frame, his ribcage is totally deformed, ribs splintering through his torso. His face is drawn in agony. Natalya exhales slowly, like nothing happened, then turns to me, her eyes gleaming with amused menace.

- Mmm, this guy's tougher than most men I've dealt with.

A low chuckle vibrates from deep in her chest. She flexes her thigh deliberately, muscles coiling like steel cables beneath her skin. What a body! What a woman! Glancing back at the battered man writhing in agony, his face turning blue from lack of oxygen, Natalya shrugs.

- See how easy it is for me? Poor fuck never stood a chance. Neither would you. He will die a horrible death: death by slow suffocation. Hehe.

She steps closer, voice dropping to a silken whisper as she flexes her arm in slow motion.

- Consider him lucky: I didn't touch his cock... Hahaha, what a loser! God, how I love being a bodybuilder!

I swallow hard, caught between awe and a rising tide of dread. Meanwhile the heavy doors of the wellness room swing open, and three stretchers are wheeled in, the metal frames clicking softly against the tiled floor. On each one lies a black body bag, zipped up tight. The air hangs heavy with antiseptic. Dressed in identical gray coveralls, the cleaners move with military precision, eyes carefully avoiding direct contact with either Rachel or Natalya. They move like a well-drilled team, not a word exchanged, each man knowing his task before his foot crosses the threshold.

- If you don't have this mess cleaned within two minutes, I will have your cocks skinned. Move!

And how they move. The cleaners move with mechanical precision, but their eyes betray them. Also their trembling hands as they grip the stretcher rail. Breath coming in short. Just barely concealed panic if you would ask me. Two of them go to the first body who lies face down near the far wall. As they gently flip him over, a collective intake of breath catches in the room—the man's face is mangled beyond recognition, a brutal ruin of bone and torn flesh. The cleaner closest to the head stiffens, swallowing hard before carefully lowering the corpse onto the stretcher into the body bag zipping it up over his broken form. The second victim is propped awkwardly. His torso is crushed, ribs splayed like shattered twigs beneath the skin. The men exchange a grim glance but proceed without hesitation, lifting the heavy, twisted frame with strained muscles. The scent of blood and sweat lingers in the air as they zip him away. The third stretcher holds the most chilling sight—the man's head is nearly severed, hanging by a thin flap of skin and muscle. One cleaner averts his eyes, voice barely a whisper: "God, how much force does it take to do this?"

Natalya turns toward the full-length mirror lining the far wall, her naked form a formidable sight to behold! Sexy. Intimidating. With each step, the definition in her legs pulses—quads flaring, calves flexing like stone under silk.

- It takes a body as curvy and muscular as mine. And a spinning roundhouse kick from legs like this.

With deliberate control, she extends one leg out in a slow arc, toes pointed, and then lifts it high into a standing split—a move that speaks as much to her balance and flexibility as to the sheer power behind the muscle. Her quadriceps flare like granite beneath deeply tanned skin, each striation catching the overhead light. The teardrop-shaped vastus medialis bulges prominently just above her knee, flexing with surgical precision. Even at rest, her hamstrings are thick cords of definition, but in motion—stretched and engaged—they resemble coiled cables ready to snap into motion. To kill. To inflict pain. She pivots fluidly and bends low into a deep lunge, her glutes contracting like pistons beneath the curve of her form. There's no wasted movement. Every shift of position, every flexed tendon or tightened joint, reveals not only the hours of training, but the genetic weapon of her frame—tailored for control, speed, and deadly force. The room is quiet except for the quick movements and panicked breath of the cleaners. She tilts her head in front of the mirror, and runs one hand over her sculpted shoulder, admiring the dense ridges of muscle that roll beneath her skin. She flexes, just slightly, watching her biceps rise like a challenge.

- Tell me, baby. Do you ever wonder what it would feel like to touch a body like mine? To worship its perfection? Or are you content wiping floors for women who could crush you without breaking a sweat?

Behind her, the three men quicken their pace. One stumbles over his feet. Another flinches when he hears the question. None of them dares to answer. A quiet smirk plays on her lips as she watches the trio work.

- Faster, assholes! You don't want us to think you're getting comfortable. Or do you think I said I'd jerk you off?

The men exchange a glance but say nothing, doubling their efforts. When the last of the cleaners hurries through the exit, a wiry young man, Natalya calls him to stop.

- You. You'll stay.

He stiffens. Doesn't speak. Just nods, jaw tight. She closes the door and steps toward him. Her size is overwhelming. Her traps slope like armour plating into boulder-sized shoulders. the ridged slabs of her chest and the distinct grooves of her eight-pack abs contrast with the sheer size of her massive boobs. Her arms alone, swelled with vascularity and definition, look like they are bigger than his entire torso!

- Get naked.

He uncomfortably fumbles with his uniform, hesitating for a moment to undress. He blankly glances toward the corner, as if looking for a private space, but Natalya doesn't budge. Her presence alone fills the room.

- What's your fucking problem? I want you naked. Now.

Shy and terrified he starts to undress, uncovering a white body soft from too long hours work and too little sleep. His shoulders slope forward, lacking the definition or posture of someone used to physical discipline. His arms, pale and modest, move hesitantly as if unsure how to exist under Natalya's scrutiny. His shabby, untrained body looks utterly ridiculous compared to Natalya's deeply-tanned ultra-muscular splendour. She smiles faintly when she notices his erection.

- Looks like at least one thing is hard about you.

She appreciatively moves the ultra-long, brightly coloured nail of her index finger along the length of his shaft. His penis twitches in delight.

- I need someone to wash my tits. And to worship me in the jacuzzi. Think you are up to do that?

He nods quietly--his face revealing awe and fear. With a swift, almost casual motion, her hand snaps forward and grabs hold of his cock, her thumb expertly massaging his glans. The man gasps—not just in surprise, but in helpless recognition of the power behind that grip. And the arousal he probably experiences. Her thick forearm barely tightens, but the force is undeniable. She pulls—not violently, but decisively—and his body stumbles forward, unable to resist. He follows her like a puppet on a string, heart pounding, limbs stiff with tension, cock hard in her grip. The sheer dominance in her movement is overwhelming. I can see Natalya is jerking him off while pulling him after her, leading him across the polished tile floor toward the edge of the jacuzzi, the heat of the bubbling water misting the air around them. Her back is a tapestry of flexing, corded muscle—broad, ripped, bulging, a living sculpture that dwarfs his own frame in every imaginable way. I can see he barely dares to glance at her reflection in the mirrored wall. Towering. Commanding. Beautiful, and terrifyingly so. A muscle goddess in motion. His mouth is dry. His legs move on autopilot. And above all, his mind must be filled with a single, pounding thought: do not disobey her. Do not make her angry.

I shift my weight awkwardly, suddenly too aware of how much pain I have. My head hurts. My crotch burns.

- Look, it's fucking awake. Well?

It is Rachel s voice. It sounds sharp and bored.

- Are you waiting for an invitation, Rosenberg?

I immediately grab the sponge, lowering myself onto my knees at the bath's edge. The marble is cold beneath me, a stark contrast to the heat of the water. Rachel simply orders:

- I want you in the jacuzzi.

I hesitate one moment at the edge, but at Rachel's disdainful nod, I step in cautiously, lowering myself into the water—I immediately wince, taken by the heat. Both women laugh. Also Natalya and the cleaning guy get into the bath, still holding him by his erection, a sight is so intimidating and humiliating at the same time. He gives a nervous chuckle, trying not to show how overwhelmed he is—and not just by the temperature of the water.

- Comfortable?

It is Natalya asking her guy, her voice low and sexy. He nods quickly:

- Yes... I mean, I'll get used to it.

Then he realizes he might've responded too fast. Under water she is giving him the hand-job of his life, jerking him hard and fast.

- You mean you'll get used to having my hand around your cock?

- You'd better, asshole. Natalya is a genius with cocks.

Natalya laughs wantonly.

- Mmm, I indeed do love cocks, yeah. My boyfriends always complain about me jerking them off too often. Pussies! What else can you do with an erection?

Rachel chuckles evilly and says:

- There are plenty of things you usually do with an erection, Natalya. And none of them pleasurable for the male involved.

- Hahaha! That makes two of us, doesn't it? I saw footage of your recent meetings at the post-op department. Jeez, babe, you sure know how to handle cock!

Natalya looks into the face of her lover, a face that has turned white with fear, his eyes wide and hollow. He looks traumatized.

- O, you must have been there too when Rachel showed your colleagues some love. Hahaha! Look at his fucking face, Rachel: still petrified as hell. You made quite the impression. Well, I found out that when I don't milk my boyfriends and drain their balls on a quasi permanent basis, the visual stimulus of my bodybuilding physique is just too much for them: they cum too quickly when I fuck them. I hate that.

Natalya suddenly stops jerking him off, releases the cleaner's cock and grabs his hair. Rachel grins.

- Men are so fucking vulnerable. Let's increase the heat. Here's the deal, guys: you have been selected to keep us company in the jacuzzi and to devote all your attention to soaping, washing, and worshipping our ultra-sexy bodies. This is a privilege few men get to experience. There is only one restriction: we allow no erections. If you're hard, you're dead.

And Natalya flexes that impossible bicep, watching the peak rise before stretching out her long, striated legs beneath the water. With the long nail of her index finger she points at his mouth and then slowly lowers her finger in the direction of her pussy.

- You'd better take a deep breath, because I want you to ...

And her sultry thick lips mimic 'lick', before she pushes him brutally under the water.

- Jeez, I'm so fucking horny, Rach. He might just make it without breathing once.

- You'll let him survive?